


Ships in the Night

by skyhighjelly, TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Baker Dean Winchester, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bed & Breakfast, Dean/Cas Pinefest, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2018, Drunk Sex, Infertility, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Omega Dean Winchester, Pining, Pregnancy Scares, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13879404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyhighjelly/pseuds/skyhighjelly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Castiel Novak was sheltered growing up and is used to doing what everyone else wants, from taking suppressants, to working a job that he despises. But everything changes the moment that he follows the most tantalizing scent he’s ever smelled, and he collides with the source, literally. Confused, Castiel runs away from the Omega after jumping to conclusions.Dean Winchester, a bakery owner, has always wanted a family and a home, but every Alpha he’s ever scented has been a major turn-off. Until his Alpha runs right into him. Despite having waited for his mate for his entire life, Dean panics when he begins to believe that Cas is too good to be true.Life keeps trying to throw them together but, like two ships in the night, they evade each other until they’re both so miserable they have no choice but to communicate and try to decide if their bond is something worth deepening.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank to my amazing artist pbj*fish who has created stunning artwork.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976358
> 
> And a special thank you to my beta Emma.
> 
> In regard to Cas’ sexual repression: I know people like this so I borrowed from real life. Sex Ed is important but if you don’t have it in some form, at some point, then how can you know about reproduction, fertility, intercourse, etc. It seems impossible anyone can be so sheltered in our society today, but it happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Pinefest! If you're not familiar with Alpha-Beta-Omega Dynamics please familiarize yourself. If you want a quick definition: Alphas (dominant) and Omegas (submissive) are humans with wolf-like mannerisms and instincts. Betas (in my fictional ABO world) are basically just humans and they don't scent or have wolf behavior.

  
  
  
It’s a particularly windy day, with a whipping and wild wind, when Castiel steps out of his BMW and begins walking to his office from a downtown parking garage.  
  
He’d much rather take a leisurely bike ride to work than drive. As it is, he can at least relish in the short walk that he takes to work, walking alongside the many other people bustling between shops and ambling on to their own jobs.  
  
Cas especially enjoys mornings like this one, even if the wind is blowing his carefully combed hair every which-way. A morning where the air is cool, but the sun is warm, and both of the sensations fight for dominance against his skin.

He doesn’t know what it is about it except that it makes him feel more alive, his days otherwise spent indoors and filled with lukewarm neutrality and stiff stoicism.  
  
He walks past a bistro and the pharmacy, makes a right down Grand Boulevard, in a group of about a dozen other harried people, when his stride is interrupted by a new and distracting sense. It tickles at him as he crosses an intersection, drawing his attention away from his task of getting to work.  
  
He tries to discreetly scent the air without calling attention to himself, breaking away from a throng of people to walk down a side street between two office complexes. The scent furls and unfurls around him, beckoning him to follow.

And so he loses himself in the distraction, the wind taunting him as it constantly shifts direction, pushing and pulling the scent so that he has to continually change his course.  
  
The smog doesn’t help, either, but somehow his sense of smell is sharper, able to pick up this specific scent from the cloy of all the others. If only the wind would stop whipping it around so he can find the source.

What he smells is warm and sweet, reminiscent of apple cider whiskey and a hint of cinnamon. It gives him a feeling of contentment that he doesn’t find in his normal, everyday life, like a comforting hug. It is that warmth, like coming home, that urges him to try to find it, so he can revel in the feelings that the scent liberates from within him.  
  
He turns down another street where it smells especially strong, but then the spiced-sweetness in the air begins to dissipate. In an uncharacteristic desperation he turns around to march back to where he came from but it is gone.

Disappointed, Cas stands in the middle of the sidewalk as people jostle past him. Reluctantly, he rejoins the dozens of others who are bustling about downtown on their errands, continuing on to his office.  
  
After a long and confusing day, where the scent is a lingering distraction in his mind and he’s struggled with feeling oddly out-of-sorts, like he has an oncoming flu, Castiel finds himself slipping onto a barstool so that he can order himself an apple cider whiskey. Just for a taste, in an effort to appease his unquenchable urge to chase the scent. Not even feeling slightly ill can deter him from seeking it out.

The shot glass is placed before him and he eagerly swallows the mouthful. It burns as it goes down and the drink does not come close to scratching the itch that the scent left burrowed deep beneath his skin. A shiver of heat, one of many he’s had throughout the day, crawls up his spine and, despondent, he goes home.

A restless toss-and-turn kind of night sees him into the next morning. He almost stays home for the fever taking hold, but he is otherwise fine so he takes the same route as he always does, from the parking garage to his office building.

Today the air feels much cooler on his flushing skin than the previous day, especially when that exquisite scent assaults him yet again. It seems to be much stronger and he can tell that it is wafting from a side street, where the wind gently rolls between two buildings, a calmer air that gives his feet a clearer direction to take.  
  
He barely registers what he is doing, his instincts and his nose guiding the way. The stronger it gets, the more he looks around frantically, so he isn’t looking where he is going when he collides with a very solid body.  
  
There is so much going on, all at once, for Cas to process. Most overwhelming is that he is completely wrapped up in spiced apples and whiskey. Dazedly, he looks down at the man who has dropped to one of his knees to pick up a small black-velvet box that he must have dropped upon impact.

“Oh my gosh, is he proposing?” Cas vaguely hears one person say before a hush settles, passerbys slowing and then stopping to see what the commotion is about.

The ring box has popped open and the man is frowning at its contents. There is a flash from someone's camera somewhere in front of him, people are murmuring, and then narrowed green eyes lift up...

Cas comes crashing back down to his human senses when he realizes that the most wonderful scent that he’s ever known is coming from a _person_ . It wasn’t a shop, or a bar, or some _thing_ he was scenting. The man is the source. The man who is still squinting up at Cas as he snaps the ring box closed and unsteadily rises to his feet.  
  
It is a shocking enough revelation to peg Cas to the spot where he stands, even as he feels his body responding. His heart rate increases, his trousers become tighter, and the fever rises. What is happening now makes a modicum of sense: he is aroused and going into his first rut.

When Cas presented as an Alpha, at eighteen, his extremely strict and religious parents put him on special suppressants right away. They did not want Castiel to be tempted by something as primal as a rut. He was taught that masturbation, sex before marriage, and Alpha-Omega relationships are immoral.

He questioned the suppressants during some of his more rebellious stints, sure, but his family had been persuasive in pushing their beliefs, intent on molding Cas into who they wanted him to be.

And what they wanted him to be is like them; Betas who can’t scent and don’t have a secondary sex. Betas who are ‘normal’ and human, through-and-through. Or in their words: pure.

He became too busy to even think all that much about the suppressants and blockers. It was ingrained in him, a mindless habit that he fulfills each and every morning. Glass of water, one baby blue pill with an X etched into one side, then he covers himself in blockers and eats breakfast.

He can’t understand why his suppressants are failing him now. Or did he forget to take his pills? Considering how automatically he takes the medication, it’s plausible that he can’t recall actually doing it. Then again, it can takes weeks for hormones to adjust after consistently missing dosages, so… it can’t be that.  
  
More heat flares in Cas’ gut, rising to his chest in a shivery wave. Even though the temperature is cool enough for a heavy jacket Cas can feel perspiration dotting his hairline, a drop breaking free to tickle its way down a temple.  
  
He holds up his hands to the man, his briefcase swinging on its handle hinges. Cas takes a step back to show the Omega that he is not threatening.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I-- I did not see you.” It takes every ounce of willpower, however, to continue his backward steps away from the beautiful, delicious smelling man before he does something he’ll regret.

Freckled cheeks turn a faint shade of pink and the man starts sniffing the air, pupils dilating. The handsome stranger seems confused, but intrigued and unafraid. He matches each of Cas’ backward steps by taking steps forward to close the space between them.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, surprised by the brazen approach. “Are you… scenting me?”  
  
“Dunno,” the man saws in a deep drawl, brow furrowing. “I--”  
  
“You shouldn’t be able to,” Cas insists. Regardless of the suppressants, he knows he is at least wearing blockers today and everyday, to further squash down his Alpha identity. He takes another step back, right into the rough red bricks of the store behind him. The jewelry store the man had come out from. With a engagement ring.

All sorts of alarms begin going off in Cas’ mind regarding that tidbit of information, but the Omega is still advancing until he’s close enough to tip his nose to the shirt-covered hollow of Cas’ throat and inhale deeply.  
  
The color in the man’s cheeks intensifies, one hand white-knuckling the black velvet box, the other coming to light upon Cas’ chest. “But I can. You smell,” dazed green eyes snap up to Cas’ clear blue, “amazing.”  
  
Cas closes his eyes. He can practically hear the Omega purring and the sweeter scent of slick, like an apple-filled orchard, slaps him in the face. He’s pretty sure only he can smell it or he would have other Alphas coming forward. Which means this man must be wearing blockers as well.  
  
They’re still very public, a confused crowd of people trying to decide if the Omega really is proposing, or if some weird street performance is taking place. Cas glances at their faces. No one else seems to be scenting anything amiss. In fact, none of them appear to be scenting at all. So it’s just the two of them and Cas doesn’t understand _why_.

The Omega is too close, his scent so heady it is clouding Cas’ ability to think clearly. He tries to focus on something familiar and it is his mother’s disapproving scowl that flashes in his mind. Cas pushes the Omega back. Not hard enough to send him flying, but just hard enough that the man is out of his space.

This is all wrong. Cas is supposed to be suppressed, undetectable, unmoving, unreactive. But he’s burning and burning for this Omega, which means he’s fairly certain that he’s broken. This is wrong, all wrong, he thinks as he shakes his head.

He’s not supposed to feel this way: to rut and desire, to be so rock hard in his slacks that it physically hurts. And he’s definitely not supposed to want to take this stranger by the back of his neck and push him face-first into the ground so that Cas can slide into his wet heat until the Omega is begging to be knotted...

Horrified by these mental images, he blurts out, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand and-- I’m sorry,” in a rush. He pushes away from the wall and past the people surrounding them, taking up a light jog to get back to his car. His skin feels like it is on fire. In his haste he almost drops his briefcase as he simultaneously fights the buttons of his shirt loose.  
  
By the time he’s settled into the driver’s seat he’s a windblown wreck. His hair is sticking up crazily and his torso is exposed from his unbuttoning. He avoids his erection and shakily presses the ignition button, turns his Bluetooth on, and calls himself out of work for the rest of the week.

   
  


  
  
Earlier this morning.  
  
  
“I’m here to pick up an order for Jessica Moore. You should have my name on file.” Dean slips his driver’s license from out of his wallet, passing it across the counter to the jewelry store clerk.

Dean is normally at the bakery by now, but he promised Jess that he’d pick up Sam’s wedding band, so that she wouldn't have to. She is working overtime before the wedding and honeymoon, so it’s the least that Dean can do to help them out. Plus, Garth and Charlie are more than capable of holding down the fort while he runs his errand.

When he had come in yesterday there was some mix-up with the ring. Something about it not being resized properly for his brother’s moose-sized hands, or blah-blah-blah. He was promised that it would absolutely be ready this morning. Inconvenient, but not the end of the world.  
  
“Of course, Mr. Winchester,” the clerk says, after confirming that Dean is, in fact, allowed to pick up Jess’ order. “We apologize, again, for not having the ring ready yesterday. If you could sign here, I’ll go get that for you.”  
  
Dean signs his name with flourish and waits for the clerk to bring him the little black box. She returns to the counter with a brilliant smile, sets it down and flips it open, revealing a large, matte silver band.  
  
“Looks good,” Dean says shortly, ignoring the pang in his chest. His little brother is getting married to his Omega, the traditional way, and starting a family. Which makes Dean very happy-- for Sam. But, for himself, he can’t deny there isn’t a bit of insecurity that his life isn’t heading in a similar direction.  
  
He has wonderful friends, and he’s got his family, but if Dean is honest with himself then he’s always craved the kinda life where he gets to come home to someone that he loves, and who loves him back. He’s never wanted to be alone and yet here he is, only months away from turning the big 3-0 and he has only had one decent relationship. His future love life doesn’t exactly look promising.  
  
The closest he had come to even considering starting a life with someone was with a beautiful Beta named Lisa. She had been funny, intelligent, and accomplished. She should have been everything, and more, but as much as he tried to force it to make it work, they just weren’t meant to be. He was unhappy, she was unhappy, but they were able to part ways as friends.  
  
Maybe it’s the Omega in him, but Dean hasn’t been one to really ignore the aspect of his identity that makes him crave a mate. Sure, he’s struggled with wanting to ‘be like an Alpha’ because the grass is always greener and what guy doesn’t want a huge dick and to feel Alpha-strong? He has come to accept most things about being an Omega, like being family-oriented.  
  
Dean sighs and plucks the velvet box from the counter, declining a bag from the clerk, and turns to head outside. He’s got a spare key to his brother’s apartment so he’ll drop the ring off before he goes into work. There’s no way in hell he wants to deal with the consequences of accidentally losing it.

But first, he really needs to call the bakery and let them know how much longer he’ll be. He pauses on the sidewalk outside of the store, and is just reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone, when someone runs into him. Dean loses his grip on the ring box and it tumbles to the ground, popping open where it lands.  
  
Dean resists the urge to growl and immediately drops down to a knee to retrieve it. It’s when he’s inspecting the ring for damage, and about to yell at the jerk, that Dean is slammed by the other person's scent. Dean inhales deeply, drawing it in to savor it, and looks up.  
  
The man is clearly an Alpha, judging by the telltale Alpha musk, but Dean also scents something that reminds him of worn leather and aged parchment, with an undertone of either bitter chocolate or dark espresso. It’s deep and rich, and so  _Alpha,_ that Dean feels dizzy from it. Unlike the musk of most other Alphas, which turn Dean off, he wants to live inside this scent. No, he wants _him_.  
  
The scent begs him to stay on his knees and present, a rush of warmth flooding Dean, like the scent itself is rippling under his skin. It starts in his chest, his heart beating it rhythmically through his veins as it travels through his body, straight to his fingertips and toes until his entire body feels electrified by sensation.   
  
The morning sun makes it hard for Dean to see as he squints up at the man, the figure large and imposing from Dean’s angle. He makes himself stand up, the action drawing slick from his body and he can't be too worried about it at the moment. Right now he wants a good look at this Alpha, so he soaks up every detail of the man as he rises: from the suit and tie, to the lithe body and freshly shaven jaw, to piercing blue eyes and dark, tousled hair.  
  
Dean tries to refrain from sniffing like a madman but he can tell, by flaring nostrils and shallow breaths, that the Alpha is doing his damnedest to appear like he isn't scenting Dean, too.  
  
His body is preparing itself for the Alpha, slickening up, a spontaneous heat with very little warning or adjustment time. And it’s clear the Alpha is in the early stages of a rut, judging by the curl of sweat-damp hair at his temples, and Alpha arousal clinging to Dean's clammy skin. This is one of the more frustrating side effects of a spontaneous scent bond between a compatible pair of people. Their bodies don’t care where they are, or who is around, when this biological phenomenon occurs in order to encourage mating.  
  
All of this can only mean one thing: this is _his_ _mate_. His  _truemate_.

Like every other unmated Omega, Dean wears blockers, much like an aerosol deodorant. No one should be able to scent Dean, not when he wears a shit ton of extra strength to last through the day. The only people who can scent each other, even through blockers, are truemates.  
  
Call it a biological fail-safe, but truemates have a special ability to scent through any olfactory distractions between one another. That way the mates can still scent one another's distress or arousal, or any number of emotions, even under all the blockers.  
  
When the Alpha huskily says that he shouldn’t be scented, Dean's heart skips, confirming what his wolf already knows. He crowds into the Alpha’s space and breathes him in deeply. Dean is pleased to find that the undernote that he couldn’t nail down is definitely a dark, smooth espresso.  
  
But the scent turns bitter like the Alpha is… afraid? Well, that’s alright, Dean is just as shocked and can help soothe his worries.  
  
Dean is about to say as much when he is pushed away. He is so stunned that he can only stare as the Alpha mumbles an apology, turns and runs off. Just as quickly as Dean reached the emotional high of finding his mate, Dean comes crashing down to reality.  
  
His Alpha is repulsed by him.

Dean tries to rein in his panic and despair, torn between taking up chase and praying a hole opens up under his feet to swallow him. They had drawn a crowd and now the onlookers’ voices rise up angrily as they throw insults at the Alpha’s retreating back.  
  
Since chasing the Alpha and random chasms opening up isn't gonna happen, Dean goes for Plan C. He funnels all of his panic into anger and takes it out on the people around him. “You act like you got nothin’ better to do,” Dean says loudly, his hackles raised. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

He turns his jacket collar up, even though he is sweltering under his layers, mostly as a way to physically shield himself. He shoulders his way through the mass of people and walks quickly in the opposite direction that the Alpha took.

Belatedly he remembers he still has Sam’s wedding ring clutched in a fist. He puts it into a pocket for safekeeping, exchanging the ring box for his car keys. He tries to be swift without stumbling, his stomach twisted in painful knots, both from the cramps that are beginning to consume him but also from mate rejection.  
  
His mind wildly replays what just happened. It was a stupid move for Dean to scent the other man like he did, pressing into his space. People just don’t _do_ that to strangers. It’s incredibly intimate and is the PDA equivalent of making out. But apparently Dean did it, letting himself get carried away by instinct instead of using his brain, and now he has to live with the consequences.

And the consequence is that he disgusted the man enough to scare him off. Dean angrily continues his march to the Impala, telling himself to not fucking cry. Hormones suck, big time.  
  
When he gets into his car he turns the A/C on full blast and starts pulling off his outer layers, tossing jacket and flannel into the backseat. He’s sitting in slick-damp boxers and shaking so bad that it takes several tries to get the key into the ignition. There’s nothing that he can do now except go home to deal with this. Alone.  
  
A whimper rises in his throat. This isn't how meeting his mate was supposed to go...  
  
Even though a small part of him wants to turn the car around and try to tail the other man, Dean submits to the rejection, and puts the car into drive. He can’t force the Alpha into an unwanted bond. He’d rather be alone than mated to someone who despises him.  
  
The drive is such a blur that he doesn’t remember half of it on the way to his townhouse. Once inside he tears off the rest of his clothes on his way to his bedroom. Dean drops to his knees beside the bed and pulls a box out from underneath it.  

He has a new toy, used only for fun up until now, but he’s all business as he gets out the realistic dildo. His body is burning and the only way it will ease up is with a knot. Even better would be Alpha semen but he knows he's not getting that today.  
  
This dildo is made from a special silicone that is described as real-feel, the closest material one can find that imitates human skin. There’s a bulb connected at the end for him to squeeze, much like what is on a blood pressure cuff. Pump the bulb and an area around the base of the dildo shaft will fill with air in order to create a knot.

Dean remains squatting beside his bed, leaning his forehead against the mattress, and reaches behind himself to press the dildo at his hole. The head pops in easily and he groans, pushing it in just a little further and panting through the slight burn. He can feels himself clenching around the imitation dick, his body eager to keep pulling it in and taking it.   
  
He continues to work himself through that stretch slowly so he doesn’t tear himself apart. Omegas in heat need little prep, if any, their hormones helping to relax the sphincter muscles enough that they can work up to accommodating a girthy Alpha much easier than a Beta or another Alpha. But that doesn’t mean he’s reckless enough to want to spend the next few days with a torn up asshole from just shoving it straight up there on the first go.

The silky real-feel helps to fuel his fantasy that it is the Alpha who is taking him from behind, but the dong lacks warmth and viability. Dean needs his Alpha’s scent and hands, to feel a solid body rocking into him. As it is, he’s awkwardly half-twisted at the waist in order to reach, trying to drive the toy deep into his own body. Hardly a comparison to a real, live person.  
  
He shakes his head. He can't think about that right now. He needs the knot. Once he's adjusted to the size of the dildo and it's in fully, he moves it back and forth, increasing speed until his arm cramps up, his ministrations erratic.  
  
As he climaxes, Dean pumps the little bulb attachment with his other hand, letting the air-filled knot catch and lock into him. He stays where he is, naked and breathing heavily, with his head bowed. Now that his heat is somewhat quenched, sadness envelopes him. He feels like his mate has died. Which is ridiculous. He _knows_ that isn’t what happened, but his Omega heart can’t seem to tell the difference between rejection and death.

Once he’s caught his breath he climbs up into the bed, buries himself into his unmade bed and puts as many pillows as he can behind him to mimic another body. The toy will stay lodged inside as it slowly releases the trapped air over the next thirty minutes for _optimal knotting realism_ , the box advertises. He falls asleep exhausted, his cheeks hot and wet from tears that he doesn’t remember shedding.

When Dean wakes up it is to a cool hand on his fevered, sweat-soaked forehead. He recognizes Jess by her scent, before he registers that she's whispering soothing nonsensical words, noises meant to bring comfort.

She’s sitting on the edge of his bed, in scrubs, and has the additional smells of antiseptic and industrial soap, like she came straight from the hospital. The smell makes his stomach want to revolt, whatever it was he had eaten for breakfast that morning rising to his throat. He swallows heavily and groans.

“Dean?” Jess says a little louder, noticing that he's awake. “Garth called Sam to see where you were because you didn’t show up at the bakery. Sam asked me to come check on you in case… well, just in case.” Her voice is gentle and sympathetic. “We’ll make sure the bakery is covered in your absence and I’ll get you some water. Is there anything else you need?”

Keeping his eyes squeezed tight, he leans his face into the cool hand resting against his cheek. She places the other one on the back of his neck, cooling scorching skin. He has the best damn family, and that includes this saint of his soon-to-be sister-in-law. He swallows down a lump in his throat.

Being an Omega herself, Jess knows how draining a heat can be. Having her help will at least alleviate some of his discomfort. But nothing can really ease the pain of rejection.

Unless…

“Can you make really, really strong coffee?” he asks hoarsely. He hates how pitiful his ragged voice sounds but he’ll have to find the energy to care later. “And find me some old leather books or something?”

“Uh,” Jess hesitates, thinking over his odd request. “Coffee can dehydrate you, Dean. You really shouldn’t--”  
  
“No, not to drink. I need-- I need to smell it.” He doesn’t dare open his eyes. He hopes she can read between the lines without him having to answer a million questions.

She does, or she blessedly doesn’t ask, to his relief. The bed shifts gently as she stands up. “Of course. First water, then I’ll go find those things. I’m sure the library has some old books so I won’t be gone long.”  
  
As soon as she has made Dean drink a full glass of water, and his door is shut tight after she's left, he flings his blankets off and reaches behind him for the knotting toy that fell out some time during his sleep. The second wave is hitting him but it’s not urgent yet.

He stares dumbly at the ceiling as he absently squeezes the sticky dildo in a fist, wondering who the hell is taking care of his Alpha if it isn’t him. He runs through a list of excuses for being left like he was. Maybe the Alpha has someone already. Or maybe he’s not into male Omegas.  
  
Or maybe, Dean thinks bitterly, it’s just _Dean_ the Alpha doesn’t want. He tries to think of how he might appear to someone as stunning as the man with his business suit and fancy briefcase, probably on his way to some prestigious job making the underlings beneath him miserable.

Dean had been wearing his favorite jeans, torn at the knees, a rock band t-shirt and his new black leather jacket. He probably looked like a street rat in comparison, just some nobody who would otherwise be insignificant in that Alpha’s world.  
  
Dean rolls to his side and slides the dildo in, his rim shocked by the initial intrusion but quickly adjusting. He angrily fucks the knotting toy, wanting to feel some pain this time. After he comes again, he lets heat-sleep take over to will away the hours until the next wave.

When he wakes again it is slower and sweeter, the room dark, but the entire space filled with the scent of biting espresso. Dean can somewhat make out an odd shape lying on the bed next to him. He reaches out to touch it and finds it is a stack of large, leather-bound books. Hungrily he pulls them closer, nosing at the cover of the top one, not caring one bit how crazy he probably looks.

But the combination of scents isn’t the same, not even close. He’s missing the unmistakable Alpha musk. And the espresso is much stronger than the old leather-bound book scent he craves. Still, it helps bring a little comfort, easing a bit of the pain in his chest, as he tries to fool his brain into believing he wasn’t abandoned.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
“You are a fucking idiot, and I say that with love,” Gabriel says, chucking a large plastic tube at Cas the moment he opens his front door.

Cas catches it against his chest before it can fall, and at closer inspection he finds he’s holding a rutting toy. A large, sparkly, hot pink rutting toy with a silicone hole on one end to imitate an Omega’s... hole.The inside would then imitate an Omega channel, for lack of prettier vocabulary.  
  
This isn’t exactly what Cas had in mind when he had given his brother the quick rundown of his predicament over the phone: that he scented someone and found himself in a rut. Literally.

He steps back to let Gabe in and shuts the door. He had just ‘relieved’ himself maybe ten minutes ago so there’s a bit of a lull before he’ll want --no, need-- to come again.

Cas feels unclean and disgusted with himself. The fact that his Beta brother is here and giving him a long, knowing look makes him feel even worse, like his sins are laid bare to be weighed and judged.

“What?” he snaps, his rutting fever not only bringing him to lust but making him incredibly surly. “I’m not putting on a show, Gabe, so stop staring at me like that. And I-- I certainly don’t want this.”  
  
No, he just wants to go hide under his bed and never come back out again. But that isn’t an option.

Cas tosses the fleshlight back at his brother and re-ties his robe so it is tighter. He’s itching to get it off but he doesn’t care how desperate he becomes. He’s not going to make things worse by disrobing and being nude with company, brother or not.  
  
“You don’t even get it, do you?” Gabe says, tossing the hot pink, glitter-flecked monstrosity back at Cas again, who automatically catches it. “God, what did our parents do to you? I mean, I thought you were sheltered but this really takes the cake, little bro.”  
  
“I don’t know what you mean,” Cas grits out.  
  
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Gabe continues, as though talking to himself. “I’m a Beta, so of course the parentals didn’t do jack shit except to scold me about skin mags and tell me that touching myself was a sin.”

Gabe waggles a finger at Cas, which makes the tips of his ears burn. Masturbating is exactly what Cas has had to do at least four or five times in the past twenty-four hours, though the urgency has eased up a bit. “Tsk, tsk,” Gabriel clucks his tongue, imitating their mother.

“Yes, well, it is disgusting,” He says, though he’s no stranger to mechanically taking care of the occasional erection in the shower because he is a male, after all. “I feel out-of-control, which you know I hate. I deserve punishment--”  
  
“Punishment? Who the hell is gonna punish you?” Gabe asks, incredulous, wisely maintaining a respectable distance. “Some obscure, distant deity? Me? Mom or Dad? It’s just you here, Bucko, and it’s your body. Touch it all the fuck you want.”

Cas is too tired mentally to argue and only grunts. Even he doesn’t know what he means by punishment. Maybe his punishment is all tied up in denying himself the Omega. He just wants this rut to be over so he can bury himself in the distraction of work and duty, like it’s meant to be. Cas begins to pace angrily, unaware just how hard he’s squeezing the sex toy until his hand starts to hurt. He eases up before he cracks the plastic housing.  
  
As Gabe circles him, still thinking aloud, his brother gets to the point of his vexation. “Though, it _would_ be your little friend, the one who induced this rut of yours, touching you if you hadn’t run the fuck away. What the hell happened, man?”

Cas licks his lips. They feel dry so he avoids answering and stalks to the kitchen, depositing the fleshlight onto the counter. It rolls, catching at the counter edge to roll back, rocking back-and-forth in a click of plastic on marble, slower and slower until it finally stops. He grabs a glass for water.

“I couldn’t just-- Gabe, I can’t just accost people on the street.” Cas closes his eyes, his skin tingling with fresh heat that travels low and begins to fill his cock as he remembers the moment he came face-to-face with the Omega. He turns and pushes his hips against the counter to hide the evidence of his arousal, grateful Betas can't scent Alphas or Omegas. And, thankfully Gabe stays on the other side of the kitchen counter, in the dining room, and can’t see anything.

“Do I need to give you the ol’ birds-n-bees speech?” Gabe starts talking high and slow, like he’s talking to a toddler. “You had what is called an instant scent bond. Out of everyone in the entire world, your nose led you right to your mate. Your fucking Omega.” Gabe drops the obnoxious tone. “So tell me, was this person put-off or were they interested?”

“I… don’t know. He came right up to me and smelled me.”

“Ooh, so he’s a he.” Gabe rubs his hands together in delight. “This is too perfect. Not only did your Alpha break free from his cage, but for another man? This is too perfect. Our parents will shit themselves.”  
  
While Gabe cackles a little, hazel eyes sparkling, Cas frowns and feels a surge of protectiveness. He doesn’t want to tell his parents anything. They don't speak as it is but he doesn’t want them to know anything about the Omega. They are bigots enough about Alphas and Omegas and don't need another reason to be further disappointed in him.   
  
“So what did he say or do after he did that?” Gabe asks, his eyebrows comically high, pulling Cas away from his concerned thoughts.

“He said I smelled good,” Cas says, the last word coming out in a guttural growl, remembering. The actual word the Omega used was _amazing_. And the Omega didn’t seem upset...  
  
“Okay, okay. Where did this happen? Maybe we can find him and get him over here for you. It’ll make this whole,” Gabe throws out his hands and wiggles them in jazz-hands, “experience so much better.”

“I don’t know who he is or where he is now. And even if I did, I wouldn’t go after him,” Cas insists, though isn’t so sure about that. If he knew where the man with the green-gold eyes was at, he’s afraid that he’d be pounding down the door right now. He drops his chin to his chest and groans at himself in disgust.  
  
Part of him knows he shouldn’t go outside of his front door. The other part of him wants to tear through town and find his Omega. Cas shakes his head at the incredulous thought, even as he silently wonders if it would be possible to track him down...  
  
Gabe is saying something again but all Cas’ errant thoughts now focused on how good the pressure of his base cabinets feel against his erection.

“Right,” Gabe says slowly, snapping his fingers at Cas to get his attention. “Uh, look, for what it’s worth, maybe you can find him again.”  
  
Bowing his head, Cas shakes it back and forth. “And go through this again?”  
  
“You won’t go into a rut every time you see him. It’s just the first interaction that’s intense. When you feel better, I’ll even help you find him. Because,” Gabe chuckles humorlessly, “mate-rejection is gonna be a bitch. Not just for you, but especially for him.”

Cas brings his head up so quickly he feels dizzy. “What? What do you mean?”  
  
“Seriously? Did they not teach you anything in sex ed?”  
  
“I did not take sex ed. Mother and Father forbade it, which is why they chose a strict learning institution. They believed that having knowledge about sex would be taken as permissible. You know this, Gabriel,” Cas says, each word coming out sharp like iron and heavy with force. “And I never had occasion, or reason, to research any of this myself because I never thought...” Cas waves a hand helplessly, leaving his sentence open and unfinished.

“It’s just,” Gabe starts to explain, not even trying to mince his words, “when one mate rejects the other it causes some psychological distress and suffering.”  
  
Cas whines low in his throat before he can stop himself. “And you think my running away could cause him pain?”  
  
“This isn’t ‘could’ buddy. It _will._ You smell him,” Gabe sings, “he smells you, your hormones both spike. He’s off somewhere in the same condition as you. But you left, so he thinks you don’t want him. Bonds are all kinds of emotional mumbo jumbo, not just about mindless fucking, ya know.” Gabe wiggles his brows. “But that _is_ the fun part. Or so I’m told." Gabe's smile falls away and he complains, "You Alphas get to have all the fun.”

Cas swallows hard, his shame expanding tenfold, that he is causing someone else’s suffering right now. And not just anyone else, but _his_ own Omega _._ There's nothing he can do about it now. It's too late. 

“Now, let’s get down to business because you’re looking like you’re gonna need some privacy very, very soon.” Gabe rubs his hands together like he’s about to divulge some top secret government conspiracy, but it’s really just the abbreviated version of how to fuck a rutting toy.

One thing leads into another and Cas finds himself getting unsolicited advice on what he’d do if there really was an Omega here.

“You know, just in case you wanna try to call someone, like I know this service that offers Omegas for hire--” Gabe holds up his hands when Cas growls, “Or not! Jesus Christ. Tame the Alpha, dude.”

As his older brother explains how to prep someone for anal sex, regardless if they make slick or not, Cas finds he’s actually really fascinated by the entire process even though Gabe is anything but clinical, preferring to explain everything in as much lewd detail as possible.  
  
“Just because they’re slick doesn’t mean a sphincter is just going to magically open up, even if Omegas do relax and take it easier than non-Omegas. Those puppies are made to clench and squeeze.” Gabe squeezes his fist tight like he’s juicing an orange and Cas feels the urge to punch him.

When Gabe winds down, Cas rolls his eyes up toward the ceiling in exasperation. He’s going to have to masturbate yet again and he doesn’t look forward to it. Sure, it feels great to orgasm, but it’s _why_ he is rutting at all that makes his heart feel heavy anew.

“I think I fucked up, Gabe,” he mumbles. Maybe his family has been wrong, about everything. Maybe he was supposed to have given in to instinct. So far no thunderbolt has struck him dead.  
  
”Ya think,” Gabe replies without bothering to sugarcoat anything, the K clacking loudly off his tongue. “That’s why I said we can find him later. ‘Kay? Feel better. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And with the slam of the front door Gabe is gone, and Cas realizes he forgot to even mention that the Omega appeared to be taken, with his black velvet box intended for someone else in his life. A rush of searing hot rage at the mere thought that another Alpha could be with his Omega right now floods him and he swears his vision clouds with red.

Once again, he’s overwhelmed by these feelings that the Omega has unlocked from deep within him. They’re powerful and he can’t get a grip on them. The protective possessiveness is probably the scariest, until it blends into the sweeter emotion of wanting to take care of the Omega.

But Cas decides that he won’t try to find the other man. They’re complete strangers and he’s not some barbaric animal that is about to rip someone’s life apart anymore than he already has. As badly as he wants to be selfish, he needs to consider the Omega’s best interest.

No, he’ll try to get through this and then go see a doctor about making sure his suppressants are working properly so this never happens again. And then life will go on.

His eyes fall on the fleshlight. He had called Gabe in the first place because he didn’t know what _to do_ aside from jack off, but it’s been sorely lacking and the repetition and overuse of shower gel has left him feeling dry and tender. He had needed someone with experience to offer advice.

The unexpected gift is the first toy that Cas has ever owned and he certainly doesn’t have any lube to go with it, Gabe having not considered that. With one final roll against his cabinetry Cas makes the choice to pick up the toy and looks through a cupboard for something that he can use to imitate slick.

He can’t even muster up a smile at the ‘Extra Virgin’ script on a bottle of olive oil. It’s like a cruel joke, the universe mocking him. He screws off the lid, takes a whiff and his nose instantly wrinkles in offense. It isn’t the scent he wants but he can still work with it.

He unties his robe and lets it pool on the kitchen floor, pouring a few drops of oil onto his palm to rub over his sore cock. But it isn’t nearly enough, he finds, when he pushes into the toy.  
  
Growling at himself for being such an amateur, he pulls the toy off and pours a big, overflowing handful of oil into his palm, rubbing himself over until it’s dripping onto his floors and his swollen cock is glistening in a light gold, glistening sheen. This time when he slips into the toy it has less friction, the glide smooth.

He gasps a little at this new sensation, grabbing at the counter for support and pumps the fleshlight over his dick, much like he would with his hand. But it still doesn’t feel quite right. Cas needs more... _something_.

He wanders to the living room, still pumping himself slowly and feeling gross, and yet wishing he’d have brought the Omega here.

Cas tries to imagine the beautiful man laid out. Maybe right here, on his couch, legs spread wide for him, lazily massaging his own Omega-sized cock as Cas slips inside of his slick-wet hole. He wants the Omega’s scent permeating every inch of his home, marking Cas, blending with his own scent. If he thinks about it hard enough he can almost smell him… taste him.

The fantasy drives Cas to lay face down on his couch, humping into the toy, rather than jerking himself off. He imagines skin he can lick and nip, but instead bites a throw pillow and tries to not scream in frustration that he doesn’t have what he wants and needs.

He wants to hear his Omega come undone, breathy whispers and heat-flushed flesh beneath him. He holds onto the image he conjures up, fucking into the ridiculous toy until his knot catches and he comes, filling the plastic tube and feeling like the most loathsome creature to ever exist.

 

  
  
“Well, I think you’ll live, Dean,” Jess says cheerfully --too cheerfully- as she walks with Dean to the dining table. “Eat up. I’m going to go call Sam to let him know the heat is over.”  
  
Dean sits down in a chair, hissing at how tender his ass is when he adjusts his posture, eyeing the sandwich that she had made for him with distaste. Jess wanders off to gather up laundry while she makes her call. Dean should probably be embarrassed by the former but he lost his dignity days ago.  
  
Sam avoids Dean during heats, even though they’re related and repelled by one another, because it bothers him to see Dean in pain and not be able to do anything about it. Dean can imagine his brother has been stressed out about the unexpected cycle.  
  
The wedding had been planned for this next week, for a very specific date when everyone in the main party wouldn’t be hitting a cycle or coming off of one. Everyone who knows that Dean went into heat would then know something is amiss.  
  
And Dean has no idea how much he had said during his less-than-lucid moments, how much Jess knows, or how much she’ll tell Sam. She's a hard nut to crack and has an insanely good poker face. If she knows anything he won't know unless he asks her, and he's almost too scared to ask.  
  
Regardless of what Sam may or may not know, it’s no surprise that Sam arrives in a cloud of Alpha-worry that sours his juniper-and-musk scent. Sam tries to mask it with a smile and all-too-casual attitude.  
  
While Jess bustles around, airing out rooms, Sam pulls out a chair opposite of Dean at the dining table. Dean knows his lingering heat scent is probably making Sam nauseated and uncomfortable, but if it does Sam doesn’t let on.  
  
“So, you look like shit,” Sam says with a grin.  
  
Dean grunts and pokes at his sandwich. He’s taken one bite in the last twenty minutes. When he catches Sam looking between the sandwich and his face, Dean makes a huge deal about taking a big bite, even though he’d rather gouge out his right eye.  
  
“Sorry ‘bout all this,” Dean says around a mouthful. He knows that, taste-wise, the sandwich is amazing and flavorful, but it just feels like he’s taken a bite out of cardboard. He puts the rest back on the plate and wrinkles his nose.  
  
“You… wanna talk about it?” Sam asks, carefully, avoiding eye contact like he’s trying to avoid spooking Dean. Well, joke’s on him. Dean is spooked the fuck out already.  
  
But that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it so he shrugs and responds indifferently. “Nothin’ to talk about. So where are you in wedding plans? I hope I didn’t set anything back.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Dean. But you may want to get Charlie and Garth fruit baskets or something. They only had to close early one day.”  
  
Dean groans, folds his arms on the table, and drops his head down. “Shit, I feel terrible. Are they pissed? I’m surprised they didn’t quit.” Dean lifts his head just enough to peer up at Sam, who reels back a little, his face lined with confusion.  
  
“Why on earth would they quit? Dude, you’re not an inconvenience. Things happen. They worked their normally scheduled hours.”  
  
“Yeah, but I wasn’t there to help bake, which means they were doin’ double duty. And, oh god, how long was Jess here? Did she take off work to babysit me?”  
  
“Dean, stop it. Stop feeling guilty. If she didn’t want to be here, or if I hadn’t been agreeable about it, then she wouldn’t have been here. It was her choice.”  
  
He opens his mouth to retort but Jess walks into the room. “Alright, laundry is on. There’s a casserole in the fridge for you to pop into the oven for dinner. What else? I feel like I’m forgetting something.”  
  
“Nah, you two get out of here,” Dean says, standing, grateful for the interruption. He carries his plate the few steps it takes to get to the kitchen. “You’ve already spent enough time on me when you should’ve been getting nails done or whatever it is that brides do.”  
  
“All that stuff is next week, silly.” Her eyes drop to his plate. “Not hungry?”  
  
“I’ll, uh, just wrap it up and save it for later,” he says, ducking his head but not before he sees the concerned look Jess shoots at Sam. As much as he loves them, and appreciates all they’ve done, he’s ready to be alone. He focuses on carefully tucking plastic wrap around his sandwich as he takes a few calming breaths.  
  
“Okay, well…” Jess’ voice trails off. “Sam, I’m just-- I’m going to go grab my shoes and purse, and then we can go,” she says pointedly. Dean isn’t an idiot. She’s clearly dragging this out to give Sam one last chance to try to make Dean crack and open up.  
  
Sure enough, as soon as Jess scampers off, Sam starts in. “You know you can talk to me,” Sam says, using his serious voice, which Dean hates because it comes off patronizing, even though he knows that’s not Sam’s intention.  
  
But instead of starting an argument about that he tries to placate his brother and says, “I know. Thanks, man,” hoping that Sam drops it.  
  
No such luck. Jess still hasn’t come back and Dean wonders where the hell she put her shoes, if not by the door. He slams the fridge a little too hard after putting his uneaten food away.  
  
Sighing heavily, Sam rises. “I can scent you, ya know. I know you’re agitated, and hate that I ask, but I care about you. But if you don’t wanna talk, then you don’t have to. I’m here for you either way.”  
  
Dean’s annoyance deflates like a hot air balloon without fire. They walk to the front of the house together where Jess is waiting and looking at her phone. She puts it away and gives Dean a big hug, squeezing him harder and harder until she forces a little laugh out of him.  
  
He turns to Sam, their hug brotherly and brief. He’s about to push them both out the door when he remembers something.  
  
“Oh shit, I have your ring. I picked it up before--” Dean hesitates, his throat constricting around the words. “Uh, well, before…” he finishes lamely.  
  
Dean hurries to his room and finds his jacket hanging on a hook on the back of his bedroom door where Jess must have hung it. He breathes a sigh of relief when he finds the box zipped up in his pocket, safe and sound.  
  
When he’s walking through the living room, and back toward the front door, he can hear Sam and Jess whispering so he slows down to kinda-sorta eavesdrop on them. ‘Cause if they’re whispering then it’s gotta be about him.  
  
Sam is harshly whispering, “If I ever meet the Alpha that did this, I’ll kill him.”  
  
“Honey, calm down. You’re stinking up the place with anger. Why didn’t you wear blockers, huh?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam mutters. “In case he needed to scent family, and know that he can trust me. I figured he wouldn’t talk but…”  
  
There’s shuffling and then Jess says, “Here, I think I have some blockers in my purse.” Dean can hear her pop the cap off a can. “Put it on before Dean comes back.”  
  
“He didn’t even want to eat, Jess,” Sam grumbles.   
  
Dean closes his eyes and counts to ten, waiting until the sound of aerosol stops hissing before plastering on a smile and striding back in to join them.  
  
"Found it," he says, wiggling the box in the air.   
  
Jess smiles at him in relief, taking the black box and holding it away from Sam when he makes an attempt to swipe at it. “Behave yourself, Samuel,” she scolds playfully. “I don’t want you to see it until the wedding.”  
  
“Fine,” Sam pouts but there are laugh lines around his eyes. He becomes more earnest and serious when he turns back to Dean. For a second Dean thinks Sam is going to pull him into another hug, but his Alpha brother controls himself. “Call me, Dean. We’ll see you in a few days.”  
  
Dean closes the door behind them and turns to his quiet, empty townhome. He should check on the bakery. He should go outside and get some sun and fresh air. He should go get groceries. Or check the mail. He should do anything but what he’s about to do.  
  
He goes to the liquor cabinet and gets out a bottle of Jack’s. He takes a burning-hot swig, re-plugs the bottle and shuffles to his room with the rest. Tomorrow he’s gotta fake it to make it, but for now he can let himself be sad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first scene wasn't originally part of the story but I wanted to explain why Cas is in his thirties and never gone through rut before. As someone who has secondary infertility (PCOS), and has given birth six times, fertility and reproduction fascinates me. In fact, reproduction and childbirth education are one of my passions, after Destiel/Cockles/SPN, lol. Enjoy!

The parchment paper covering the examination bed is sticking to the back of Castiel’s thighs in the most unpleasant way. He is used to the opulence of his regular doctor’s office, the one he has visited since birth.  

In that office the rooms are large, immaculate, and they use Egyptian cotton sheets that are laundered in scent-free detergent, soft and supple. Their comfort measures don’t make up for the coldness of Dr. Alastair, however.

He suspects that Dr. Alastair would have told his mother, Naomi, that Castiel had come in to seek advice about what had transpired a couple of weeks ago with the Omega. That doctor is paid very well for taking care of his rich clients, so Cas has every reason to believe Naomi also pays Alistair to report any unexpected visits to her, patient confidentiality be damned.  
  
He’s lucky that Gabriel has kept his word to be silent, choosing to stay hidden in the wings as it were, instead of blabbing about the Omega to Naomi. It’s just another reason he chose to confide in that brother, of all of his siblings, when Cas most needed help. He doesn’t trust Mike or Luc whatsoever.

With all of this in mind, Cas had decided to find his own practitioner and pay with cash, in order to avoid unnecessary drama with his family. He never speaks with any of them and doesn't want to give them reason to call or show up unexpectedly. So that is how he finds himself in this public clinic, with its tiny rooms, garish green walls and composition tile floors. 

He shifts again, peeling his thighs away from the paper-covered vinyl bed, wondering how much longer until the doctor will come in. He had, of course, done his research. Dr. Jody Mills has excellent ratings for being knowledgeable and straight-forward, but also trustworthy.  

A knock comes at the door and swings open when he calls out, “Come in.”

“Mr. Novak, I’m Dr. Mills.” The Beta shakes his hand and sits down on a round stool. “Looks like you’re new here, so it’s nice to meet you. What brings you in today?”

Cas fidgets but Dr. Mills maintains eye contact until he speaks, prepared to fully listen to his concerns.

“I need a new suppressant prescription. I don’t believe mine are working properly.”

“Okay, what makes you think that?” Dr. Mills writes a note on his file and gets up to wash her hands.

“Because I went into a rut while still taking them.”

“Lay back for me. When was the last rut before that?” she asks before feeling behind his ears and along his neck.  

“I’ve never had another before.”

Her hands pause. “How old are you?”

“I just turned thirty-two, why?”

“Could you tell me how long you’ve been on suppressants, and what kind?”

“Since I was eighteen, so fourteen years.” He watches her face for a reaction and can’t ignore the way her brow comes together in concern. “They’re Hellhound-X, specifically for Alphas.”

She hums in acknowledgement and puts her stethoscope in her ears. “Who prescribed them and why?” When he hesitates, she assures him, “Nothing leaves this room.”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning," he sighs. "My parents knew I wasn’t an Omega because of a sonogram they made me have as a kid. But they weren’t sure if I’d be a Beta, like them, or an Alpha. When I presented at eighteen they immediately took me to Dr. Alastair. He gave me a shot of— of something, I don’t know what. It was to stop the fever that had started, before I could go into a full rut." 

Cas swallows down the sickening feelings that rise when he remembers back to that time, one of the last times he recalls feeling out-of-control until most recently. "And then all the adults talked privately while I rested. They decided that I should be put on the suppressants. I’ve taken them ever since.”

“Shit,” she murmurs and then shoots him an apologetic look, most likely for her language. “I’d like to take a look at the rest of you, including your bathing suit area. I'm just looking for any abnormal lumps or swelling. If you’re uncomfortable then I won’t.”

Cas shrugs and lays back. He stares at a water spot on the ceiling. She puts on gloves and gingerly moves his balls and penis around before pressing around his groin and stomach. She is quick in her assessment and, to his relief, she doesn’t make any Alpha anatomy jokes as he's been subjected to before by supposed professionals.

She readjusts the gown for his modesty and steps back. “I don’t want to beat around the bush because I’m concerned about a number of things,” she says, taking her gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

Cas sits back up. “I would appreciate your candor.”

Dr. Mills returns to her stool and clasps her hands together. “Good news first: you had a rut, even after all of this time. Do you have an idea of what may have set it off? Missed doses, maybe?”

Cas glances at the door and then at a poster on the wall before returning his eyes to Dr. Mill’s face. “My brother claims it was due to a scent bond.”

“Really?” Dr. Mills takes a moment to write a long note in his file and then looks up. “Now, the bad news. This specific suppressant has been discovered to cause sterility and stunts the maturity of the temporal lobe. In plain talk, it not only suppresses your hormones so you can avoid ruts, but it also suppresses,” she waves a hand around to find the right words, “emotions. Hormones and emotions kinda go hand-in-hand. Were you aware of any of this?”

“I was not aware, no,” he says slowly.

“How do you feel, usually?”

A memory of his mother --clucking her tongue at him in disdain for being an emotional child, getting an inch from his face to sneer at him, telling him to shut up and be a big boy-- flashes in his mind.

“It is either one extreme or the other,” he says quietly. “I either feel nothing or I feel too much, all at once. Lately, it has been the latter and that’s another reason I felt the suppressants were no longer effective.”

“I see. Well, the suppressants are bad news. As far as possible sterility goes, we can run tests to determine if you’re fertile. But after fourteen years?” She looks at him with something he assumes is sympathy. “Do you want children?”

“I… had not thought about it.” A mate and children didn’t really fit into his general, everyday thoughts. Not until recently, but he doesn’t mention that.

She nods. “My advice? Whether you want kids or not, whether it did cause sterility or not, you really should wean off the suppressants. They aren’t meant to be taken long-term.”

“I came here hoping to maintain them,” Cas sighs in disappointment, “not to be told to go without.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but the long-term effects go beyond sterility. There’s concern for your heart, liver, lymphatic system—.”

“I understand,” Cas interrupts.

“I want to be clear," Dr. Mills says gently, "that you still have a choice. I’m simply giving you my professional opinion.”

“And I appreciate that, even if I seem put-off. You have been very attentive and honest.” He came in here thinking the suppressants were broken, not his own body, but it is what it is, so he needs to do what is best. “I want to stop taking them. What should I expect?”

Dr. Mills gives him a relieved smile, relaxing as well as one can when perched on a backless stool. “You’ll most likely experience mood swings, irritability, weight gain or loss, and increased libido as your hormones attempt to regulate. If your body cannot regulate on its own, then we may need to introduce hormone therapy.”

Cas’ head begins to spin with all of this information. The idea of increased libido and mood swings gives him anxiety.

“I’d like to see you back in six weeks to see how you are feeling. I would like to wait until the medication is flushed out of your system before we discuss hormone replacement. It may not be necessary. If your mate is available, then I’d like for them to be here as well, since this also affects them.”

“I don’t— there is no one. Not anymore. Not ever, really.” Cas bites down on his lip to stop stumbling over his words.

There is sadness around Dr. Mill’s eyes. “You mentioned the scent bond, so I had assumed you mated. May I ask what happened? That kind of information can help with your medical treatment, but I also ask because I care.”

And so Cas quickly tells her about what happened. “Ever since it happened, I do feel,” Cas struggles to find the right emotion to properly convey his experience, “lost? Forlorn? But with everything else, I have resumed feeling predominantly indifferent.”

“You feel indifferent, except where your Omega is concerned,” she says thoughtfully.

“He isn’t… mine,” Cas says brokenly, but he doesn’t deny her words.

“Your bond with him may be stronger than you know. It’s not uncommon for a couple to scent-bond in spite of medications and blockers. What I find fascinating is that the bond took, especially considering the fact that you are over thirty. This is good news, Castiel. No, it’s great news.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mills,” Cas says softly, not truly catching her enthusiasm. He wishes it was contagious because he doesn’t understand how this is great news.

“Don’t thank me yet. Now, if you can leave a sperm sample before you go, we can do a preliminary fertility test to establish a baseline.” She stands and goes to the door, either not noticing his blush or ignoring it. “I’ll get my nurse, Alex, to get you set up for that.”

Dr. Mills stops with her hand on the doorknob. “Oh, before I forget, going off suppressants will cause you to begin to have ruts. It is hard to predict when. For some it may happen in a couple of weeks, for others it may take up to a year. If you can, try to find an Omega. Alphas and Omegas need that physiological connection. I’m glad you came in Castiel. Call any time you have questions and I’ll see you in six weeks.”

After a harrowing time of trying to leave a sperm sample, Cas finally does it and leaves the clinic. His stomach rumbles with hunger. He really should get back to work but-- maybe it's emotional eating, but he wants a cinnamon roll after all of this bad news, damn it.  
  
Cas does a quick search for the nearest bakery and follows his GPS to a parking lot that is shared between Traveling Riverside Bakery and a tattoo parlor, oddly named skINked. He parks next to a big, black car that looks like it could use a good washing.

It’s a gray day that threatens rain so Cas hurries to the door. There is an awning above the storefront that hides a roll-up shutter, the glass door tucked between two large picture windows plastered with band posters and advertisements.

He is about to pull the door open when something inside catches his eye.

No, some _one_ catches his eye through the glass-front door...

From his vantage point, he can clearly see inside the bakery. It is a large, open space where the kitchen is open to the lobby so that customers can watch the food being created. Large wood and glass cases, filled with treats, separate the storefront from the bakers.

And he’s there, the Omega, wearing a black apron that has dusty, flour handprints near his thighs. He’s nodding at a red-haired woman who is working at a counter opposite of him.

Cas heart clenches tight. He looks beautiful and he looks... happy.

The Omega hasn’t seen Cas, instead playfully scolding the redheaded woman before he returns to a large steel bowl that he starts kneading into by hand. With the Omega's attention diverted Cas watches a moment longer. Forearm muscles twitch as the Omega works the dough and Cas wonders how those hands would feel on his own flesh.   
  
A fantasy begins to play out in his head, of coming up behind the Omega, of leaving his own flour-dusted handprints on him to mark him...

Someone bumps into Cas and apologizes, wanting to go inside the bakery. He steps aside for them, inhaling deeply as the swish of the opening door lets out a burst of yeast and spices.

Cas catches the door before it can close all the way and debates staying or going. What would he say, what would the Omega do? The shop is filled with old rock music and the sound of the Omega’s laugh. The entire scene is warm, but Cas doesn’t belong here. He'll only make it awkward.   
  
Cas lets go, the door slowly suctioning itself shut in its frame. He turns and stumbles back to his car as the first of plump raindrops fall from the sky, mocking the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

  
  


“Alright, Charlie, get back to work,” Dean scolds, trying to appear playful even though annoyance is simmering beneath the surface. He loves her, so dearly, and his attitude has nothing to do with the chatterbox and more to do with his own inner demons. And the roaring hangover headache pounding at his temples. “Those mini pies ain’t gonna bake themselves.” 

“I can talk and work, Dean,” Charlie says in exasperation.

“Yeah, except from where I stand, you don’t seem to be able to work your hands and your mouth at the same time.” Dean plunges his hands into the soft, sticky dough that is done rising, a small puff of flour rising up to tickle his nose.

“That’s not true. I talk _with_ my hands.”  

“Yes, but do you roll out dough and bake with those hands while you talk? Because all I see is them fluttering around in the air.”  

“Alright,” Charlie grumbles as the door swings open. Dean doesn't even bother to glance up but Charlie wipes her hands and turns to greet the customer, filling their order since Dean gave Garth the day off.

Dean sprinkles flour over his work station and begins kneading the dough, thinking about his mother. He opened this bakery in her memory and he wonders if she’d be proud. He didn’t really get a good education, so medicine or the sciences weren’t really on his radar. He found he liked to work with his hands and figured he’d either end up in engineering or in a kitchen.  

There’s something nostalgic and comforting about the domestic warmth of baking that has led him to where is now, rather than to a garage. That, and people kept coming back for more when he was just cooking out of his house.  

The work is therapeutic and helps him to feel close to his mom, keeping her memory alive. He adopted her pie crust recipe, and over the two years that he’s been in business, he’s expanded to include muffins, scones, rolls, breads and many other items as customers had given him their requests.

It’s not a booming business, by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s humble and well-loved in the community. A friend gives him a good deal on rent so he can afford to work outside of his townhouse. And now he’s able to employ three other bakers, besides himself, plus Garth. He started delegating responsibilities until he was comfortable with taking some weekends off.

Right now he wishes his mom were here, sitting across from him with a steamy cup of tea, writing down recipes and sharing her baking secrets with Dean. He wishes he could ask her about mates, give him advice on what to do. Would she encourage him to seek closure?

“So how are Sam and Jess doing?” Charlie asks, interrupting his thoughts. He zoned out and didn’t even notice she had washed her hands and returned to her station, resuming rolling out pie crust dough.

“Awesome,” Dean says with a sigh. “They’re doin’ awesome.”

“Wow, curb that enthusiasm, my dude.” Charlie stops rolling to look at him.

He points a flour-covered hand at her. “Prove you can work and talk at the same time,” he deflects.

“Well, I know you’re Mr. I-Can-Do-Hard-Things-All-On-My-Own," Charlie says nonchalantly, rolling a flour-dusted pin across the mound of dough, "but I’m here, ya know. If you ever wanna talk about it".

“Yeah, maybe someday.”

“Still too fresh?”

Dean frowns. “Somethin’ like that.” Too fresh, too real, too raw. It's been a little over two weeks. He doesn’t tell her that, at this rate, he’ll probably die alone. Maybe he should get a cat. No, not a cat. Maybe a ferret. No, they stink too bad. Guinea pigs? A dog?

The door opens again and a couple comes in, shaking off some rain that had started. Charlie puts on a cheery smile and turns to greet them.

Dean starts fantasizing about what he'd do if he ever saw the Alpha again. An itch starts in his chest, to get everything out in the open, to talk it through before he bursts from the pain burning in his chest.

“It’s just,” Dean starts when Charlie comes back, “I always thought that instant bonds were cheesy romance, great for TV drama. You hear people claim it’s what drew them to their mate, but you secretly wonder if they’re delusional. Is it real? Or is it just wishful thinking because they _want_ it to be true? Who wouldn’t want to find a truemate? And then you just happen to be downtown one day when an Alpha runs into you, literally, and you feel _it_.”  

Charlie stares at Dean without moving, eyes wide, like she’s afraid that if she moves or speaks it’ll break whatever spell has caused Dean to open his mouth and start talking. And she ain't far from wrong. He just needs her to give him a moment to get this out. 

“Okay, so apparently it really is a thing. I swear I felt my pupils actually dilate, my temperature spiked so fast that I thought I was going to pass out. And he smelled…" Dean lifts his eyes toward the ceiling, as if descriptive words could call from heaven itself, "like no other Alpha I’ve ever scented. Oh, and here’s a crazy thing, apparently we were both wearing blockers.”

“They do say truemates can find each other, even through the chemicals,” Charlie says softly, carefully. “So, Dean, you’ve been really distant and, I dunno, off. Did something bad happen? Is he an asshole? Do I need to kick ass?”  

Dean hangs his head and sighs. “He walked away. No, ran away is more like it. Mumbled some half-ass apology and bolted.”  

Charlie bites her lip. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”  

He shrugs and pulls out his own rolling pin to roll out his kneaded dough. “Yeah, well, nothing I can do about it.”  

"Why don’t you try to find him?”

“Where would I even start? And, more importantly, what’s the point? Nah, I’ve already decided that ship has sailed,” Dean says firmly, partly to convince his broken heart. “Gotta just put it behind me.”

“Well, my advice? If you do ever see him again, talk. Communicate. Figure out what is going on instead of assuming. Maybe he’s got pups, maybe he was married and his spouse died and he’s heartbroken and confused…”

Charlie continues spinning tale after tale of why the Alpha could have conceivably walked away until they start getting ridiculous, to the point that Dean is laughing and joining in.

Things like, “Maybe he’s another species and his people would disown him,” and, “He’s a robot programmed to seek out potential Omega mates for rich playboys,” and, “A malfunctioning science experiment because how could he seriously smell _that_ good?”  

Afterward, Dean is genuine when he says, “Thanks, Charlie. I think I needed that.”

“Any time.”   

The following morning Dean wakes up late. He likes to be in to work before dawn but he spent the night with a bottle of whiskey. His employees should be grateful that he at least took the time to shower, even if it set him back even further.  
  
He’s in his driveway, the pastel horizon brightening into day, when his phone rings. "Garth,” Dean says gruffly, his other hand gripping the door handle of his car. 

“Got a big order for delivery this morning, that I’m trying to get done for a, um," Garth sounds like he's shuffling papers around, "Sandover?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of ‘em," Dean grunts. “What’d they order?”  

“Five dozen. They just wanted a random variety. We got the call just as a pan of cinnamon rolls came out. Charlie is finishing up some scones. Definitely got plenty of muffins, but we’re getting swamped with people comin’ in…”

What is unsaid is clear: Garth wants to know when the fuck Dean plans on joining them and if he will actually put some effort into running his own business.

“Say no more, I’m on my way.” Dean cringes when he sees the actual time. “Actually, why don’t you guys just focus on the walk-ins. I’ll swing by to pick up the order and deliver it myself.” 

“Sounds good, Boss,” Garth says cheerfully and Dean can hear a cacophony of noise behind him. “See you in a bit.”

Dean almost goes back inside to change out of his usual flannel-and-jeans combo for black slacks and a nice burgundy button-down but decides against it. He looks like some lumberjack nomad with his attire and lack of shave but he can’t find two fucks to give.

When he reaches the business complex forty minutes later with their order, it is imposing and formal. Dean feels out of place, especially when a woman’s sharp blue eyes land on him in the lobby. She is graceful and well-dressed, oozing of money and power.

“Are you from the bakery?” the dark-haired woman asks, heels clacking loudly across some kind of marble or granite flooring. Whatever it is, it shines to an almost mirror-like finish.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m Dean,” he replies with a smile that he doesn’t quite feel, swallowing a sarcastic quip about how it’s obvious that he’s from the bakery considering he’s carrying three large bakery boxes full of delicious-smelling pastries. 

“Hannah,” she offers stiffly, like it pains her to have to reveal her identity. She gestures for him to follow her to an elevator on the far end of the room. The doors swish closed behind them once they've stepped inside.  

“My, uh, colleague has a very important presentation this morning so I wanted to surprise him,” Hannah says suddenly, filling the awkwardness with nervous chatter. “I hope your pastries are as good as the rumors I hear.”

“All of our reviews are from actual customers. We don’t pay anybody for ‘em.”

“Hmm,” she says, side-eyeing Dean before staring straight ahead. Her bangs are cut severely straight and she stands so tall and still that she may as well have a steel rod for a spine.

“Well, Castiel hasn’t looked like he’s doing so well lately. He’s worked really hard and it would mean a great deal if he gets the lead on this project. Call it a symbol of faith,” she says, gesturing at the boxes in Dean’s arms.

Dean has no idea what to say to that, but if she wants to believe muffins make miracles, then who is he to say otherwise? He offers her what he hopes is a warm smile. He just wants to put these down, get back to the bakery and lose himself in the kitchen with the familiar scents of yeast and sugar.

The elevator seems to take eons to get to the thirty-eighth floor. Dean tries to not think of how high that brings his body away from solid ground when it lurches, and he momentarily thinks they’re about to plunge to their untimely deaths.

The thought should have struck some fear into him, made him yelp or react. But it didn't. More terrifying than the thought of death is his numbness and lack of concern that death could have been imminent.

Hannah is equally unperturbed by the motion, from her familiarity with the elevator's nuances, and the doors glide open. She starts to lead him down a corridor on the left so he mutely and obediently follows.

“You’ll just need to leave them in the kitch--,” she starts to explain, but someone pops their head out of an office doorway and interrupts her.

“Hannah, wait. Glad I caught you. Stark is on line four for you and he sounds pissed.”

Hannah points Dean in the direction he should go. “Keep going and take a right and the break room will be on your right. You can’t miss it,” she says before turning and heading in the opposite direction.

Dean finds it alright. The room is enormous as far as break rooms go. All along the back wall is a complete kitchen, with an over-sized refrigerator. There’s a huge flat-screen television mounted on another wall and there's even a fireplace.

As if having a full-size kitchen isn’t enough, they also have a coffee bar with a triple-carafe drip maker and mix-ins galore lined up on a counter.

Several employees are milling around and swarm to the boxes that Dean sets down. None of them talk to him, like he’s invisible. The differences between his bakery and this corporation are vast and wide.   
  
He can't wait to get outta here and hastily leaves the over-indulgent break room with its well-dressed employees, taking a right when he should make a left. Dean is thinking that he ain’t got it so bad, that he wouldn’t trade the familial warmth of his bakery for all the impersonal coldness of Sandover, when he finally realizes that he had gone the wrong way.

He’s been absentminded lately but this is downright embarrassing. He looks up to see if there are any security cameras watching him act like a lost pup. Of course there are cameras. He sighs, turns around, and glances through a large conference room window as he passes by again.

That is when he sees _him_.

Dean trips on the short carpet as he pulls up short. He feels suspended in time, unable to wrench himself away as he stares into the conference room. The morning sun is causing enough of a glare against the window from inside the room to shield Dean from view.

The Alpha has lost the tan coat and suit jacket, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s commanding the attention of everyone in the room as he walks around the table with a serious, steady calm belied only by his lack of a decent shave in a few days.

And, Dean frowns as he notices, Blue Eyes also looks a bit on the slimmer side than Dean recalls. He ignores the urge to go grab a half dozen pastries from the break room and force them on the Alpha to eat. It’s not up to Dean to care for him. Well, it coulda been, but the Alpha kinda missed out on that by leaving in the first place.

The man has just rounded the table, his back to the hallway window, when Dean notices the blond man watching his Alpha with an expression that Dean doesn't like.

Dean’s fists curl and he decides he’s going to wait the meeting out, unless it turns out to be one of those all-day things. He can at least wait a few minutes and then he’ll confront Blue Eyes when he steps out.

It’d be really fucking great to ask him what his deal was, for starters. Dean could understand if it was something as major as the Alpha being married, but when Dean looks for the other man’s hand he doesn’t see a ring. Maybe he’s dating Blond Dude, the thought making his stomach revolt.

The Alpha seems to be winding down his speech, everyone at the table shuffling their papers into piles, scooting chairs out. People begin to trickle out of the room, with barely a glance in Dean’s direction, until it’s just his Alpha with the blond.

He sniffs gently and can smell the Alpha’s scent bleeding into the hall from the open door. Dean greedily inhales it deeply but then chokes when Blond Dude touches his mate and his mate smiles. Dean feels like he’s shattering all over again.  

He loses the courage to stick around. Dean backs away, down the corridor. He somehow manages to find the elevator and jams at the button again and again until the doors finally open their arms to him and swallow him into the enclosed space. The elevator plummets, like his heart, and Dean can’t get to the safety of the Impala fast enough.

He climbs in and takes deep breaths. He needs time to just let the stupid scent bond dissolve. More time, actually, now that he’s gotten a small taste of the scent again. He should force himself to forget and move on, and just find someone else to help ease the pain.

Then he laughs at himself scornfully. Who wants to be a fucking rebound? And no one-night-stand, or a dozen, are going to come close to helping. If anything, it’ll make him feel worse, like he actually owes the Alpha his loyalty.

But does he listen to his brain? Of course not. While still parked on the street, with the meter ticking closer and closer to red, Dean opens up his phone. He does a quick search of the Sandover employee directory until he finds what he’s looking for, stopping on a picture of a handsome, dark-haired Alpha.

His name is Castiel Novak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a cook in a coffeehouse, once upon a time, so I baked all the yummies from scratch each morning. I had to be there before the butt-crack of dawn but at least I got off work just after lunch!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I implore everyone IRL to practice safe sex.

Bartholomew is droning on, his presentation so dull and unoriginal that Cas can’t even pretend that he's interested enough to listen.

Truth be told, he’d much rather be anywhere but the stuffy boardroom. He’d rather be doing yoga, or sitting on a pier tossing bread to ducks, or painting, or digging into a vegetable patch beneath an over-sized hat. _Anywhere_ but here.

He settles for absently sketching a pair of eyes on the document in front of him. He only saw these eyes briefly but he’s certain he’s got most of the details correct. They haunt him enough in his dreams.  

An analog clock ticks on the wall and Cas focuses on that soft, rhythmic beat. Someone else starts tapping their pen. There’s a cough and there’s a rustling sound as a few people shift in their seats.

It isn’t until Balthazar’s very sturdy dress shoe jabs Cas’ shin that he looks up from drawing fine eyelashes and finds everyone watching him. It must be his turn to share his presentation.

A presentation that he almost didn’t complete because of the rut. But as soon as it was over, Cas was grateful to have something to keep him busy, and he began to work overtime to catch up. It has helped distract him from the myriad of unfamiliar and agonizing emotions that keep threatening to drown him.  

He takes command of the room, going through his recitation coolly, after having spent hours memorizing each minor point. After he is done, and the room has cleared out, Zar stands and claps Cas on both shoulders, leaving them there as he laughs heartily.

“Ah, did you see Bart’s face when you mentioned already having several vendors in mind? You’re brilliant, Cassie, you know that?”

Cas rolls his eyes affectionately. “We’re a team so I won’t take all the credit. I appreciate the extra time you’ve put into this with me. You’ve helped a lot, and pulled a lot of late hours, so thank you for being there.”  
  
Zar shakes Cas’ shoulders just a little before letting go, his expression softening into concern. “Look, I know you don’t want to discuss _the Omega_ ,” Zar whispers the last word, “at length anymore but you’re— you are doing okay now?”  
  
Cas has to give Zar credit for trying because he looks completely out of his element and uncomfortable with the topic. Cas waves a dismissive hand. “I’m fine,” he lies to spare Zar from having to talk. And because there really isn’t much else to say.

Zar doesn’t look like he’s convinced but he drops the topic. “Come along then. I hear Hannah brought some baked goodies for you." Zar looks at Cas pointedly, with a raised brow.

“I’m sure Hannah brought them for everybody to enjoy.”  
  
“Oh, Castiel. You are quite naive, aren’t you? But, it’s what I like about you. It’s refreshing and honest, and so unlike everyone else in the family. Now for that Hannah woman, she is all, what’s the word? Googly-eyed over you. She’d take care of you, if you let her.”  
  
Cas shakes his head. That’s the last thing he wants, though Hannah is very considerate and kind to him. They have no relationship outside of the office and he doesn’t intend to encourage anything intimate.  
  
“Well, regardless of her intentions, I’m not interested. Right now, I just want some strong, black coffee,” Cas says, following Zar through the doorway but he stops suddenly as Zar continues on, looking down the length of the hallway in each direction.  
  
When Zar notices that Cas isn't following he, too, stops. “Cassie, what’s wrong?” he asks, turning around.  
  
“It’s-- nothing.” Cas sniffs the air a little but mentally shakes himself before catching up to Zar. He swears that he can smell the Omega, but he has slept so little that he has to be smelling things that aren’t there. He frowns. “Like I said, I need coffee. I only got to have half a cup before being summoned for this last minute meeting.”

“Hmm,” Balthazar hums. “Fergus does like to keep us on our toes, doesn’t he?”

They take another turn before they go separate ways, Zar to gorge himself on pastries in the break room and Cas back down to his office.  
  
Now that his presentation is over with, Cas can sneak in some work on a personal endeavor. He hasn't told anyone yet, not even Gabe or Balthazar, but he's bought the old Zimmerman place and is going to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. He's supposed to have the keys in three days and he already has a construction crew scheduled to come over that same day.  
  
The Zimmerman place is a rundown house on the outskirts of the city, built just over a hundred years ago. It has several acres and a small pond. And to Cas, it is perfect. It is his new mission, something to put his energy and love into. He may not get the mate or pups but at least he can have this.   
  
In fact, it took learning about his mate, about his potential sterility, and coming to a realization that he's dissatisfied with his career, that Cas came to the conclusion that he can't sit behind this desk anymore. This isn't him. In fact, everything that he represents in this moment isn't him.  
  
Right now he works on listing his BMW for sale online and looks for a realtor to help him sell his house. This weekend he will clear out the house, donating furniture and his suits to charity. And, very soon, he will quit and be free once-and-for-all from his parents' lingering influence and from Sandover.  
  
It gets late and he is just about to leave the office for home when Zar comes pounding on his office door. "Good, you're still here. Grab your coat. We're going out," he says theatrically after swinging the door open.   
  
"No, Balthazar," Cas argues, glancing at the clock on his computer. He got really carried away with his bed-and-breakfast plans before turning back to other work. "Not tonight."   
  
"You must," Zar says, looking personally affronted. "It's Friday night and I insist that you not go back to your lonely little house. Come out with me, and some others, instead."  
  
Cas lets himself, the new him, be persuaded and the two men take a cab to a bar that Cas has never heard of before, near Westport, called The Whipping Post. When they get there, Balthazar steers him toward some barstools at the counter. Hannah and a few others are already seated, an air of excitement for the night to come hangs about them.  
  
“I’m buying your drinks tonight,” Zar says in his ear, loudly.

Cas slips onto the barstool between Zar and Hannah and _the smell_ is there. It has been so long since he's scented the Omega that he doesn't care how foolish he looks. Cas inhales deeply and then twists around to scan the room.

Being that it's Friday night, the bar seems to be bursting at the seams with bodies. Cas is being bumped into as people try to order drinks around him and move around the room. Most of the people that he sees near him are coworkers. 

“What are you looking for?” Zar asks, drawing Cas’ attention back.

“It’s… nothing,” he lies. Again. He seems to be doing that a lot lately and it doesn’t sit well with his almost constantly jittery, nauseated, on-edge state.

Zar clicks his teeth and taps at the bar with blunt fingers. “I know what we need to do,” Zar says gently so Cas raises a brow in question. “We need to get completely and utterly wasted.” His lips curl into a contagious grin that Cas can’t help but mirror.

The scent won’t leave him alone as they wait for the bartender to brings out shot glasses and fill them. It is faded, like how scent can cling to fabric for days after someone last wore it. Clearly it’s old, or maybe he’s confusing actual whiskey with the Omega’s scent.

Maybe, just maybe, he does need more than a few drinks. After all this time he’s still floundering. He can’t be the downer tonight.

It doesn’t take but a few shots of the hard stuff before Cas feels warm, his throat and chest burning from liquor, his head spinning in dizzying circles. Along with that his tongue is looser, his smiles quicker and easier.  

Hannah keeps leaning in close and touching his arm. She declines going with Anna and Hester, who left to sing karaoke at the other end of the building. Hannah is a Beta, and a pretty woman, but alcohol is definitely making her a lot more physical than Cas is used to.

“Oh, I know this s-song,” Hannah says loudly in his ear. “' _You’re Beautiful_.' Can’t remember who sings it though.”

Straining his ear, Cas can hear a man singing a song he doesn’t recognize, the voice deep and rumbly and beautiful despite being very much affected by alcohol.  

' _I saw an angel. Of that I’m sure_.'

Laughing, she slips off her stool. “C’mon, Cas-teel,” she slurs, clearly, changing her mind about karaoke. “I wanna hear you s-sing. Let’s go sing a duet.” 

' _He could see from my face that I was flyin' high. And I don't think that I'll see him again. But we shared a moment that will last till the end'.'_

Zar laughs along with her, helping pull Cas off the barstool.  

“No, no, I’ll listen. You two sing. Haven’t you heard me sing before?” He’s pleased that he isn’t slurring, unless he is and he just can’t tell that he is because he’s too drunk to tell. Oy.

“It’s atrocious,” Zar agrees, interrupting Cas’ inner monologue with a roar of fresh laughter. “Which makes this the best idea ever.” 

' _There must be an angel, with a smile on her face. When she thought up that I should be with you.'_

He doesn’t put up much of a fight as they pull him across the room, mostly because his nose picks up that scent again and it is surprisingly getting stronger the further into the building they go.

When they stop a few feet from the stage, right in the center of about six round tables filled with other people, Cas realizes why the current singer’s voice has captivated him. From here he is close enough to see the man on the little makeshift stage.

He lifts his eyes up the Omega’s body slowly. The Omega is wearing walnut brown boots, blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a blue-and-cream plaid flannel that has been left unbuttoned. Even through the other smells, the Omega’s scent is like a flashing distress beacon to Cas.

' _But it's time to face the truth I will never be...'_

Green eyes, which were closed but are now aimlessly skimming over the crowd, land right on his face. Cas wonders if the man even knows who he is looking at. By the way his eyes widen and his voice hitches as he whispers the last words of the song, ' _with you_ ,' Cas knows that the Omega knows exactly who he is looking at.

Hannah is hanging off of Cas, giggling about nothing that he can recall being funny, while Zar’s sweaty arm hugs his waist. They both stumble and try to right themselves, looking at Cas in confusion, when he roughly pulls himself away from their clutches.  

“I-- I need to go, Zar. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, pivoting on his heel and making his way toward what he hopes is the exit. He doesn't get far, people having come up behind them to listen to the Omega sing.

A loud, booming voice echoes through the speakers, “Hey, you. Stop.”  
  
Everyone, even at the front of the bar, looks over at the stage sharply, trying to see what is going on.

Cas closes his eyes and stops as commanded, even though any other person attempting to tell him to stop would probably be sorely disappointed. He turns slowly to look at the Omega, who has stepped to the edge of the stage, only about twenty feet of space separating them.

“You-- what-- you left. You left me,” The Omega is slurring and talking so loudly into the mic that there’s a sharp feedback that makes everyone but the Omega wince. “And now yer gonna leave again w’out sayin’ a damn word?” he asks, face screwed up in hurt and anger. “D-decent thing’d be to at least ‘splain yourself. ‘Cause it’s gotta be you, right? Or is it me?” The Omega laughs humorlessly.  

Cas shakes his head, causing the room to tilt oddly. What is the Omega talking about? Cas can feel the hurt laced in his words, the tang of sorrow burning Cas’ nostrils. He wants to go to him and yet he still wants to flee; either choice would be for the Omega’s sake. Wouldn't it?

“Yeah, well, prob’ly me. Fuckin' fan-tast-ic. Ev’rybody leaves. My parents died and left. Sam got married and left. My mate-- my mate left--”

“Dean,” a bartender snaps in warning, coming out from behind the counter to walk toward the stage. The Omega responds by ducking his head submissively and looking over at the bartender, his attention temporarily diverted.  

Cas’ breath catches. The Omega’s name is Dean.  

He could’ve looked him up, after he found the bakery, but Cas tried to avoid finding out because he thought it would be easier to let Dean go if he didn’t know his name. Now he has lost the choice of ignorance. That single word may haunt him the rest of his life.

“Ah Benny. Ev’rybody ‘cept you,” Dean says, microphone pressed to his chin. “Yer the only one who hasn’t let me down. Too ba-- too bad you’re taken.”

The bartender makes his way over and pushes some buttons on a big board next to the stage, cutting power to the mic. It’s hard to hear them now without the amplification but it sounds like Benny is trying to talk Dean off the stage.

“Is that the Omega?” Zar whispers and Hannah looks between them in confusion. Around them, people return to their conversations, the noise levels rising again.

“He looks familiar,” she asks, squinting at Dean. “Is he talking about you?”

“It would be best if I leave now. I didn’t know he’d be here,” Cas says and this time he knows he’s not slurring. Seeing the Omega --Dean-- is like a bucket of ice water dumped over his inebriation. He feels stone cold sober, though he doubts that is the case.

He’s also highly aware of everyone watching and whispering. It’s like a flashback to when he first ran into Dean. Why must there always be a large audience?

“Oh, alright,” Zar says, frowning, his forehead deeply wrinkled. “Let me, at the very least, walk you out like a proper gentleman. Do you need me to call you a cab?”

Cas lets Zar weave him through the crowd to guide him outside, leaving Hannah to fend for herself or find her friends. “No, I don’t need you to call for me,” he says once they’re in the open air and he can hear himself think.   
  
Balthazar waits with him while he places a call for a car. Cas doesn't even want to wait. If he didn't live so far he'd just walk but this area isn't one he wants to be caught walking around in at this time of night. 

“Wait,” a calls out behind them just as Cas pockets his phone. He instantly knows to whom the voice belongs. The men turn together, watching Dean swagger up to them, a storm in his eyes. “Is he why?” Dean asks, gesturing toward Balthazar.

“Is he ‘why’ what?” Cas asks.

“You two are together? That’s why you… ya know.”

Zar, to his credit, bursts out laughing. “Oh, you daft pup. Maybe in some parts of the world it is acceptable to date your cousin, but I tend to hook-up with anyone and everyone who isn’t my kin.”

Dean looks momentarily stunned and licks his lips, ignoring Balthazar and turning to Cas. “Then her? Hannah, right? She was practically swinging from your neck in there.” Green eyes harden, a bitter note of jealousy in his scent.

“No. There’s nobody,” Cas says softly, eyes strictly on Dean as he tries to gauge the host of emotions affecting is mate. He wants nothing more than to reassure him and that alone is confusing. “Why are you even-- Are you not married?” 

“Married?” Dean slurs, his entire face twisted in confusion. “What the fuck gave you that idea?”  

“When I saw you --first saw you-- you had what I suspected to be an engagement ring. I thought that…” Cas’ voice trails off.

Dean’s brow furrows and then he laughs. And laughs some more while Cas stands there feeling foolish.

“It _was_ a wedding ring,” Dean wheezes, trying to catch his breath. “For my brother. His fiancée asked me to pick it up for her. S’you thought I was gettin’ hitched?”

“Yes,” Cas breathes, taking a step forward, being pulled in now that Dean’s scent is sweetening, the despair dissipating. Just being this close to Dean is soothing, the nausea and weight that has been sitting in his chest for weeks is being lifted.

“As entertaining as this is, I think this is my cue to leave. You’ll be okay, Cassie?” Zar asks, wrinkling his nose. Cas gives him a terse nod without looking away from Dean, and Zar slips away.

Dean licks his lips again and looks down at Cas’ mouth. “You, uh, left then ‘cause--”

“Because I didn’t want to disrupt your life. And I must admit I did not understand what was happening, not until my brother explained it later.” Cas looks between Dean’s eyes imploringly, his apology genuine. “I am so sorry, Dean. I didn’t intend to hurt you.”

The Omega’s lips part and he steps closer. “S’you weren’t… disgusted by me?”

Cas snorts at the absurdity of the statement. “No, I was most certainly not disgusted by you. I was disgusted with myself. Dean,” Cas starts and then stops, unsure how to explain how intense his arousal was, his first rut, any and all of it. Perhaps it is not an appropriate first discussion...

“So ya do wan’ me?” Dean asks, eyes wide and glossy.

Cas tears his gaze away. He wants Dean more than anything. Headlights turn into the parking lot and the cab that Cas had called pulls in.  
  
“Do you want to come with me?” he asks, shocking himself but unable to take the words back now that they are out there.  

Dean closes the space between them, apparently very happy to hear those words judging by the increased sweetness and heat of his scent. “Can I?” he asks, swaying a little as he looks down at Cas’ throat.

Nodding, Cas lifts his chin, letting the Omega scent him. Dean dips his head down and nuzzles into Cas' neck, his firm body relaxing enough that Cas has to grasp Dean’s shoulders for balance, to keep them from both falling.

When Dean steps back he tilts his chin over and Cas presses the tip of his nose against collarbone, trailing it gently up Dean’s throat as he breathes deeply. He’s finally found home.

Only moments ago Dean was lamenting into a microphone, with the cheesiest fucking song in the history of songs, and now he’s confronting Cas in the parking lot. He can’t let it go. He can’t let him go again, not without answers.

When Cas admits that he was trying to honor some nonexistent proposal, wrongfully assuming Dean was with someone else, all the mental exhaustion and nausea he’s been feeling melts away. Their bond, however weak it was to begin with, no longer feels strained by distance and rejection.

And, oh god, scenting Cas right at the source has made Dean drunk in a completely different sense. He had thought Cas’ scent was simple and straightforward. But this close he can scent the complexity of it.

Under the musk and bitter espresso is sweet black cherry and spicy clove.  

Dean could spend the rest of his life buried in this scent, taking it apart, piece by piece. No, taking Cas apart, piece by piece.

But for now he pulls back dazedly, grasping at Cas’ short hair while the Alpha gently runs the tip of his nose over Dean’s neck, hot puffs of breath on Dean’s skin.  

When Cas straightens back up, Dean is still cradling his head, and wants so badly to bring their lips together but Cas is guiding him toward the waiting cab. Cas gives his address and then they’re on their way to his house.

They don’t have the aid of mating hormones drawing them irresistibly together so they behave themselves in the cab for the driver’s sake, Dean taking Cas’ hand and just resting his head against the Alpha’s shoulder, trying to sober up a little.  
  
Being near the Alpha makes his nerves buzz and Dean closes his eyes, soaking up his pheromones. Cas is a bit serious and rigid, his scent happy but tinged with nervousness.  
  
The moment they reach a swanky subdivision and the car stops, Cas pays the driver and they’re finally alone, in his house. And Dean is done with waiting. He’s waited weeks for this. Well, technically his whole life...  
  
“Dean,” Cas chuckles in the moonlit living room when Dean presses up against him. “You’re drunk. And I had been drinking as well.”

“So?” Dean mutters, lips brushing against Cas’ neck as he speaks. He stumbles a little trying to toe off his boots. Cas catches him under his elbows with steadying hands. Dean apparently has zero coordination at the moment but he manages to get the boots and socks off.

“So, I brought you here to look after you, not to take advantage of the situation. You can rest and we can sober up and talk. And if-- if you find you aren’t angry with me when you’re sober, if you still want me--.”

Dean lifts a finger and pushes it against Cas’ mouth to silence him, smashing his lips. “Not angry. Anymore. And 'm really not _that_ wasted...”

Cas sighs. “Yes, you say that you're not angry now but--”

Dean moves his hands to the fly on his own jeans to continue undressing himself. “No buts.” Dean snickers. “No butts.” He bends his knees and shoves his jeans down in one quick movement.

“Dean,” Cas says more sternly, even as he continues to hold onto him so that Dean can step out of his jeans without falling on his face.

“Jus’ gettin’ comf’rt’ble.” Dean grunts as he shrugs his flannel off, tossing it somewhere on the floor, stepping back to look at Cas.  

If Cas could walk away from an unmated Omega in heat, while he was rutting, it would be nothing to walk away from Dean now. But if Cas chooses Dean, well, Dean wants nothing more. He takes off his t-shirt and tosses it aside and watches Cas, waiting.

Cas’ eyes travel down Dean’s chest to hip bones, stopping to rest at the trail of hair that disappears into the only fabric that Dean has left on his body.

“We could... make up for the time we lost,” Dean offers. He lifts his chin and turns his head to the side submissively while Cas stands, wide-eyed, teetering on the edge of resistance, his fists flexing at his sides in indecision. Whatever way Cas chooses to fall, Dean will respect it.

Dean hums happily when Cas steps close and wraps a palm around his throat, sliding it around to cup the nape of his neck, sending shivers through him. They both take several small steps toward each other, like a slow dance.

The scent of Alpha arousal is so intense that the room feels like it is spinning, Dean giving up control as he leans into the heat of Cas’ breath, lips and tongue that are trailing up his neck, teeth gently biting along Dean’s jaw.

He’s delirious with the realization that his Alpha wants him, of his own choosing, and doesn’t realize just how tightly he’s grabbing Cas and holding him close until Cas leans back to look at his lips.  
  
And then that perfect mouth is on his and it is desperate. Not a frantic desperation, but a yearning, given over by weeks of denial. Cas seems insistent on drawing out every rumble and whimper that he can from the depths of Dean’s soul so he doesn’t disappoint his Alpha. Cas responds back with his own soft, sweet growls.

Dean presses his hips forward as he draws Cas in closer to him, seeking friction against Cas’ groin. His own cock is hanging heavy, only slightly supported by the small band of fabric between his legs from his boxer shorts.  
  
The feel of his mate’s erection bumping into his own, slotting together side-by-side through the clothing they still (stupidly) have on, makes Dean eager to divest Cas of his clothes. He slips the coat and the suit jacket off and starts working dress shirt buttons.  
  
He breaks the kiss only long enough to hold the sleeves while Cas pulls his arms out, neither of them wanting to fumble with the cuffs, before hungrily bringing their mouths together again. Hands explore Cas’ chest, his biceps, finally resting against his hips, Dean’s thumbs rubbing hard circles into hip bones, pulling and guiding Cas across the room.  
  
Each awkward, stumbling step is slow-going and Cas growls in frustration, taking over with guiding them through his house so that they get to the bedroom quicker.  
  
Two things that Dean notices right away when Cas manages to get his bedroom door open and ushers Dean inside. First, he is consumed by the scent of Cas upon entering. The house itself clearly smells like him but the bedroom is saturated with the Alpha.  
  
The second thing he notices, and thinks, is ‘Thank God the bedroom is on the first floor.’

They both work Cas out of his pants and shoes and Dean backs up to the bed, sitting down and making a move to slide back toward the center but he doesn’t get far. Cas plants his hands on either side of Dean’s hips possessively, trapping him there, chasing his lips. Dean leans up on elbows to meet him.

Cas’s hand presses against Dean’s stomach, sliding over muscle and the little pooch flesh, lower and lower, until his hand comes in contact with the small, thin bit of elastic of his boxers.

When Cas tries to pull them off he growls, really growls, when Dean laughs and flexes his leg muscles to make it harder for Cas to remove them. The growl just makes Dean laugh harder but he relents right before Cas can tear the cotton in half to get it off of his body. It lands somewhere over Cas’ shoulder.

Cas pauses with his hands coming to rest on Dean’s thighs as the Alpha takes his fill in looking Dean over.    
  
Palms tentatively glide up the side of Dean’s thighs, running them up and over hips, then back down until Cas reaches the sides of Dean’s ass. Dean draws his knees up and lets them drop to the side, knocking Cas’ hands out of the way.  
  
But Cas finds something else to focus on, his hands gripping the innermost thigh near Dean’s cock, his thumbs dipping into his slick-wet crack.

Dean makes a pleased noise, a soft but shaky sigh. Cas pushes one of his thumbs deeper into the crevice until Dean can feel the reflexive twitch of his hole. He tries to stay relaxed when Cas exchanges thumb for his middle finger, pushing it inside to the first knuckle.  
  
Dean doesn’t think he needs any prep but the foreplay is fucking hot, so he lets the Alpha play, enjoying the feeling of the other man’s careful exploration.

And what Cas seems to lack in experience, he makes up for with curiosity. Dean watches the Alpha lower himself between his open thighs. Cas uses his free hand to hold a cheek open and Dean can feel the press of his tongue right next to where his finger is slowly pushing in.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” Dean slurs, reaching between his legs to grip the dark hair hovering near his balls, teasing him with their feather-light touches as Cas’ tongue laps up slick.

“You like that?” Dean asks thickly after several moments, bringing Cas back to the present moment.  
  
Cas hums appreciatively and slowly inserts a second finger. Dean is sure if Cas keeps this up that he’ll come and what he really wants is…  
  
“Cas?” Dean says and Cas hums again. “Cas, I want you to knot me.”  
  
That draws the Alpha’s attention back up. Cas swallows hard and pulls his fingers away. Dean grunts unhappily at the loss of contact but then Cas is situating himself over Dean, their cocks bumping together as Cas seeks his lips. The nervousness in Cas’ scent is back and it’s clear he’s hesitating...

“Don’t worry, ‘m not gonna break, Cas,” Dean says roughly against Cas’ mouth. “Wanted this. Do you..?”

Cas nods and kisses him again and Dean sighs into it. It’s a tender press and then Cas is leaning up to look down at Dean.  
  
“Yes, I’ve wanted you. I’ve wanted you, your scent. I’ve wanted to taste you.”  
  
“Jesus. Fuck, Cas,” Dean says, a bloom of heat spreading across his chest. He leans up and kisses Cas again. Between their bodies, Cas adjusts his weight, reaching down to hold himself steady as he begins to press into Dean.  
  
When he breaches the taut ring of muscle, just the crown swallowed up into wet heat, Cas gasps above him, his fingers finding and digging bruisingly hard into Dean’s waist.

“Yes, okay. Yes,” Dean murmurs, talking himself through the stretch, as well, because Cas is thicker than he imagined. After a moment he shifts his hips, ready for more, bringing Cas back down from some euphoric daze that the Alpha is in.

Cas pushes in little-by-little, each new depth drawing out a harsh breath from Dean. When he’s all the way in, Cas leans over Dean’s body, slowly sliding back and forth as they adjust to the sensation. When Dean wraps his legs around the back of Cas' thighs, the roll of his hips increases in speed and then Cas’ lips are all over Dean’s chest and neck.

But it’s when Cas drags teeth over his trembling flesh that Dean loses his mind, little nips of pleasing pain. Cas takes a gentle bite and then sucks, just long enough to leave red marks without piercing skin.

“Oh god, Cas,” Dean mumbles, his hands unable to do anything but clutch at the Alpha’s back, his hips unable to do much but push back to meet each of Cas’ thrusts.  
  
They’re pressed close, melded together, their moving bodies providing enough friction and pressure against Dean's trapped dick to help draw Dean’s orgasm up through him.

“Don’t. Stop. I’m--” Dean breathes. Dean huskily starts whispering, “Cas,” against the side of Cas’ head as he comes. Dean shudders through his orgasm and pants breathlessly, his arms falling aside to the mattress once he's spent.

Cas doesn’t stop, even as Dean’s channel tightens around him. If anything his fervor increases, rolling his hips roughly until his knot swells until it catches.

Dean is held by his hips, pulled tight against Cas' groin so the Alpha is good and deep, filling Dean in rhythmic pulses. Dean bunches up the bed sheet in his fists, savoring this moment of being knotted for the first time. To his mate.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean says, his tense body relaxing into the mattress, becoming limp. “That was awesome. You feel amazing.”

Cas closes his mouth and opens it again, surprised by the compliment. He blinks rapidly and responds with a throaty, “Likewise,” which makes Dean chuckle.

When Cas tries to sit back a little, he doesn't get far and groans when Dean’s body reflexively tightens around him, keeping him in place.

Dean chuckles again. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

After Cas adjusts his weight a little, laying over Dean and putting weight on his elbows, he asks, “Is this alright?” close to Dean’s ear. Dean responds by wiggling his hips, which makes Cas stiffen and bite his lip.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” Dean says, wiggling his hips again and laughing when Cas stiffens and lets out a filthy moan, more heat filling Dean as the motion milks Cas' knot. “I’ve never, ya know, been with an Alpha before,” Dean confesses.

“Dean,” Cas says softly, brokenly. “I didn’t know. Is this… okay then?”

“Mmm,” Dean says sleepily. Cas leans up a little to peer at him. “More than ‘kay. It’s what I needed.” Dean forces his eyes open. He doesn’t want to fall asleep yet. His drunkenness has dulled to a slight buzz and he wants to talk to Cas.  
  
“So what do you do for a living?” he asks softly.  
  
“I’m a Certified Professional Building Designer,” Cas recites dryly.  
  
“Wow, fancy. So you build things?”  
  
“No, that would be an architect. I design, but I don’t build. If I continue my education, then I could do both but…”  
  
“But what?”  
  
“This is not what I want to be doing anymore," he sighs. "It was really my parent’s influence that I ended up where I am. And, lately, I’ve been thinking that I’ve allowed my family too much control in my life.” There’s an edge of bitterness and biting anger in his voice but Dean doesn’t want to ruin this moment by asking about it.  
  
Instead he asks, “What would you do, then, if it were up to you?”  
  
Cas smiles wistfully. “Buy a fixer upper on a few acres of land and open a bed-and-breakfast. It’d have a big wrap-around porch, a garden, several rooms.”

“So why don’t you?” Dean asks curiously. “You only get one life to live, man. You should do what you want. Especially since you’re what? Early thirties?”

“Thirty-two. And," Cas hesitates, "I'm working on it. I know my dream isn't going keep me rich, nor is it sophisticated—“

“Screw sophisticated. Your ideas are really cool and much better than doing something you hate, even if it is more money. You’d get to be your own boss. I actually run my own business," Dean says proudly. "I own a bakery.”

Cas is silent for a moment and he admits, “Yes, I know.”

“You know?” Dean is taken aback. “What else d’ya know about me?”

“Well, that’s about it. I didn't even know your name until tonight and I didn’t realize you _owned_ the bakery. I happened upon it one day, but I saw you through the window and...”

“Chickened out?” Dean can feel his cheeks heating up. He was about to get irritated but he then he remembers that he kinda did the same thing at his office.

"I did," Cas admits. "I wasn't sure... I just didn't know."

Dean nods, his eyes growing heavier. Cas doesn't say anything else and Dean feels himself being pulled into a dream.  
  
It seems like only seconds pass when Dean wakes in a sun-filled room, the room bright beyond his eyelids. It’s gotta to be at least late morning. He takes a deep breath and tries to roll over, his eyes flying open when he realizes he's in a bed with somebody. Cas moved off of him at some point, tucking himself against Dean's backside.

Some way, somehow, Dean and Cas keep finding each other. And now Dean is here, waking up  within a limp circle of arms, as Cas softly breathes against the crown of his head. It’s perfect.  
  
Dean comes-to slowly, purring contentedly and breathing in their mingling scents. They’re still naked, snuggled in the softest blankets and fluffiest pillows he’s ever touched. He didn't notice last night but the bed is like a fucking nest and the Alpha’s scent saturates every fiber.  
  
He begins to feel pensive, though, like he wants Cas back in him. Of course, there’s the heat-crazed kind of needy, which they missed out on, but this is different. This isn’t driven by hormones, but by his own hunger. Cas is the one who is meant to take him and fill him. Being here… it’s like the missing piece has finally slotted into Dean’s life.

Dean carefully rotates in Cas’ arms until they’re chest-to-chest, draping an arm over Cas’ waist. He breathes in the musk at Cas’ throat, deep and slow, but the Alpha doesn’t stir. He can smell something new there, something a little sweet, so he licks a delicate strip from the hollow of Cas’ neck up to a spot under his jaw.

Smiling, Dean moves Cas’ arm off of him and slowly pushes at Cas’ shoulder until the Alpha is laying on his back. Cas wiggles around for a comfortable spot in his new position, his brow wrinkled in sleep.

As much as Dean wants to pick up where they left off, his stomach growls and he can feel the hint of a hangover migraine starting behind his eyes.

Dean reluctantly gets up and decides to take a quick shower since he feels crusty in places not worth mentioning. Cas’ bathroom is really nice. There’s a double sink and he freely looks in the cabinets and drawers. His mate shouldn’t mind him snooping around, he hopes. Cas doesn't seem like the abrasive type, or like he's hiding something sinister with his Q-tips.  
  
He finds towels and, thankfully, a pack of unused toothbrushes, humming happily as he brushes his teeth and then showers.

Cas is still asleep when he comes out of the bathroom. He slips back into his jeans. But when he grabs his shirt, he notices it reeks of beer so he carefully pulls open Cas’ drawers and finds an old Ramones t-shirt to wear. It seems so out of place with how refined Cas seems, with his suits, nice career and fancy house.  
  
Dean frowns as he looks over the things in Cas' room. He wonders what Cas would think of his rugged bedroom, which looks like it was put together by a college band junkie who can't quite grow up enough yet to put up gilded mirrors and abstract art.

Leaving Cas to sleep, Dean steps out of the bedroom and into a spacious, bright living room. Everything is white and pale blue, sunlight pouring in from several windows and from a large skylight in the ceiling.

It is completely open to the adjacent kitchen which is also white and modern, with sharp lines, and stainless steel appliances. It lacks the warmth Dean finds in his outdated --some might call retro-- kitchen but it’s nice enough. If someone is into the whole sleek, mod thing.  
  
Dean sets his dirty shirt and jacket on a bar stool and decides to surprise the Alpha with some breakfast. They both need to eat and he can show off a bit of his skills, following this urge to want to please and impress the Alpha. He feels like he’s way in over his head with such a successful, handsome mate.  
  
Dean pretty much makes himself at home, quickly figuring out the lay of the kitchen. There’s no bacon or cereal but he finds coffee grounds and finds ingredients to make banana muffins.  
  
While those are baking, Dean washes up the dishes that he used and then wanders around the living room. There aren’t any personal photographs anywhere, no DVDs that Dean can see. In fact, it doesn’t look like anyone has ever even sat on the couch. There’s not even a butt impression in the cushions to indicate someone uses the space.  
  
There’s a pile of mail on a small desk next to the television set but Dean isn’t that nosy so he ignores them and continues walking until he’s staring out the back window. Cas has a large yard and it is so perfect that he doubts there’s a single weed on the premises.  
  
There are several long boxes on the ground, along the privacy fence, and they’re filled with plants. Dean squints and he thinks at least some of them have tomatoes. He grins as he envisions Cas being out there talking to his plants and bringing in fresh food from his garden.  
  
The daydream is interrupted by a knock on the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm vague about the project Cas is working on but you will hear more about it later. In this world the farm-to-table phenomenon is just picking up in popularity, so his proposal for the restaurant that Crowley wants built is about using locally sourced materials for the building and local foods for the menu. This story is set in Kansas City and we already have several restaurants like that here. 
> 
> All of that being said so I can recommend two of my favorites: Tay's Burger Shack and Pigwich. Check them out if you ever visit.
> 
> Westport is a real place but The Whipping Post Bar is fictional.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas panics when he wakes alone but he sticks his head out the door and hears Dean humming in the kitchen. He sounds and smells content, happy, so Cas decides to shower really quick before joining the Omega.  
  
In the bathroom, the scent of Dean lingers but it’s richer, muskier than Cas remembers. He sniffs at the moist air as he adjusts the water's temperature and tries to get himself clean as quickly as possible.

Several minutes later, when he comes out of his bedroom, he finds Dean facing off with Gabriel at the front door.

“Heya, Cassie. Whatcha been up to, huh?” Gabe wiggles his brows. “Hope you don’t mind but I let myself in since this handsome fella wouldn’t answer the door.”

“Gabe,” Cas bites out, placing himself in front of Dean without really thinking about it. Dean huffs a little behind him but all Cas can think is that he should’ve never given his brother a spare key. “What are you doing here?”

“Geez, can’t a big bro drop by to see his little bro?” Gabe asks in exasperation. He drops that act for another, waggling a finger at Cas' face. “You sly dog. If I had known you were banging Ken doll here, I’d have waited at least another twenty minutes.”

“Don’t speak of him like that,” Cas snaps.

“Look, color me happy. I’m just glad you got over that Omega you were being all mopey over—“

“Gabriel,” Cas groans and this time Dean chuckles. “Excuse us, Dean. I need to have a private talk with my brother about respecting people’s privacy.”

“Hey,” Gabe yelps when Cas pushes him into his bedroom. “Check your phone. I came over because you, apparently, were having too much fun to see that I’ve texted and called you a bajillion times. I was…. worried. It's not like you to not answer."

“And yet you failed to try the house phone, which I would undoubtedly hear.”

Gabe contemplates that and nods. “I have to admit that I didn’t think about it. It’s so archaic. Who owns a landline anymore? Yeesh,” Gabe says with a bodily shudder. “Okay, so who’s the eye candy?”

“My…” Cas has no idea what to call Dean so he tosses out a couple of nouns. “Omega? Mate?”

Gabe’s mouth drops open comically. “ _T_ _he_ Omega. And you were able to tear yourself away from _that_?” he says in falsetto. “You guys,” Gabe claps his hands on either side of Cas’ cheeks and loudly exclaims, “are gonna have beautiful babies.”

Cas pushes Gabe back and then nervously asks, “Wait, that’s possible?” His fertility appointment is next week and he had asked that they give him test results at that time, rather than over the phone. He still doesn't know if he's even able to father pups or not.

Gabe smacks his own forehead. “You really don’t know where babies come from?”

Scowling, Cas replies, “Of course I do. What I meant was if it’s possible when an Omega is not in a heat.”

“Pretty sure that’s a big, fat negative.” Gabe grins slowly, his eyes bright. “So I guess that answers the question of whether you slept with him. So you’re gonna be mates now? Move into together," Gabe gushes, "do the whole _family_ thing?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken with Dean about any of that.” Cas considers his brother, the only brother he’s ever been able to trust. Suddenly he wants to tell him about Dr. Mills and the suppressants and fertility. He lowers his voice as he confides in Gabe. “So I honestly don’t know if we’d even be able to…” Cas lets the sentence trail off.  
  
With a rare expression of concern and sympathy, Gabe pats him on the back. “Sounds like you have a lot to talk about. _With him_.”  
  
“Yes, I know. Perhaps sooner rather than later. He may not wish to be with me if he knew...” He gives Gabe a watery smile. “Now, I really should get back to my guest and stop hiding back here.”

“Hey,” Gabe shouts, offended. “I’m a guest, too.”

“Hardly,” Cas says, walking out of his room and down the hall to the living room. It is empty. Panic seizes his heart, the scent of Dean faded enough for him to know that Dean is no longer in the house.  
  
“Well, I’m gonna get outta here and let you two lovebirds continue your canoodling,” Gabe says, heading straight for the door as he looks around in confusion. “Uh, where’d he go?”  
  
“Probably bathroom,” Cas says gruffly.  
  
Gabe just shrugs and goes out the door, leaving Cas to turn in a slow circle and look around his empty house. There are banana muffins burning in the oven. He can see out the large windows that Dean is not in the backyard. And there is no note.  
  
He just left.

After he pulls the ruined muffins from the oven Cas finds that Dean left his shirt and jacket on a stool. He would come back for those, right? Cas calms down a little. There may have been an emergency with the bakery and Dean will get into contact with him when he can.  
  
But the entire day passes without a word. Cas must have done something wrong. He thinks back on their time together. Perhaps Dean regrets sleeping with him.  
  
He considers stopping by the bakery to check in on Dean but then a thought so dreadful comes to him. Dean must have overheard his conversation with Gabe and thinks Cas is defective. That has to be it. Dean had been fine up until that moment.  
  
So instead of going to him, Cas waits for Dean to come back. Days pass until a week has gone by without a word. Dean never comes for his shirt or jacket, which Cas had to launder and keeps folded neatly atop his dresser.  
  
Cas has his fertility appointment and learns that he is considered sterile. He's too numb to really feel anything about the news. He's completely weaned from the suppressants and Dr. Mills will continue to monitor his hormone levels to make sure his body is regulating on its own.   
  
Despondent, unable to focus on work, snappy with everyone, Cas finally quits. Zar tries to talk Cas out of it, of course, but he won’t hear of it.  
  
“I’m giving you the restaurant project, Zar.” Cas looks out the window, at the city below. From here a building blocks the view of the street where Cas bumped into Dean, but he doesn't need to see it to feel a sharp stab of regret.

“You haven’t been yourself lately, Castiel,” Zar begs, his seriousness evident by using Cas’ full name. “You shouldn’t make a rash decision just because…”

Cas turns and raises a brow, unsmiling. He isn’t sure when the last time it was that he smiled. Maybe it was with Dean. No, not maybe. It was with Dean. “Just because what, Balthazar? Just because karma bit me in the ass?” 

“You give that Omega far too much grace. He literally fucked you and left. You at least had the decency to not screw with him. When you left it was to protect him.”

“I’m not going to talk about this,” Cas decides, placing his hands on the box that is set on top of his desk. Now that he looks around, there's nothing he really needs to take from the office. “I’m quitting. I should have done this a long time ago. I knew that I was going to do it before I ever met him." 

Balthazar looks hurt. “But—“

“It’s not up for negotiation. I’ll make sure you’re left in charge so don’t let Bart get his hands on this. Also, I want you to use Traveling Riverside Bakery for the restaurant's desserts.”

“Isn’t that—?”

“Yes, it is. I,” he hesitates, “I just have to make sure he'll be alright.”

“But he bloody well hurt you,” Zar explodes, anger flashing in his eyes.

Cas doesn't respond to that. "Contact him, offer him this contract, but do not mention me whatsoever. If he tries to ask, which I doubt he will, just tell him you can’t talk about it. Do this for _me_ , please?”  
  
Zar glares but he takes the contract. “Of course.”  
  
  
  


About week ago.  
  
  
Dean hugs his arms over his chest, hurrying down the sidewalk. Luckily he had his wallet and keys and phone in his jeans, and boots on his feet when he bolted.

He can’t stop thinking about what he overheard. That short guy, Cas' brother, apparently only had one volume because Dean wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But he heard it: ‘ _You guys are gonna have beautiful babies._ ’

It’s like audio on repeat in Dean’s head. He’s a complete and total moron. He stupidly and drunkenly didn’t use protection and now he’s gonna be freaking out about getting an STD and about pregnancy, for however long it takes before he can get tests.

His whole life Dean has wanted to have his own family. But now that the possibility is staring him in the face, it’s too real. And too rich and too accomplished and too handsome and just _too much._

A family means responsibility. It means people in his care that depend on him, including emotional support. And he’s just not ready for that.  
  
He thought he was, thought it was what he wanted. But as he reflects on his own upbringing, he doesn’t know if he has what it takes to be remotely close to being what a pup or a mate would need. He just needs time to think.

Besides, Cas seems to be doing alright. He doesn’t need Dean screwing up his perfect little life and his perfect dream.

“What the hell was I thinkin’?” he complains to himself as he picks up the pace. Therein lies the problem. He wasn’t thinking. He was following a scent trail.  
  
He makes a detour, recognizing where he’s at now. There’s a park a few blocks away where he can wait on a bench for a cab to take him back to The Whipping Post, where he left his car.  
  
For the next several days he distracts himself with work, pushing out new recipes, practically living at the bakery because he hasn't taken a sip of alcohol since the morning he left Cas' house. Just in case...  
  
It’s come to the point he can take one of the ten-day pregnancy tests but he’s too nervous to buy one, so he does the only other thing he can think to do. He calls Jess.

“I don’t think I’ve told you lately just how awesome you are,” Dean tells her over the phone.

Jessica laughs. “What is it? What do you want?”

“Uh, if I tell you then you gotta keep it between us. Can’t even tell Sam because he might have an aneurysm.”

There’s a bit of a pause before she says, “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s up?”

“Can I come over and use your bathroom and…” Dean is about to lose his nerve.

“Dean? Are you still there? I think I lost you.”

“Nah, I’m here.” He clears his throat. “It’s just that-- you’re an Omega and I’m an Omega and there are certain biological things we gotta check on.”

“Yeah," Jess drawls out, "still not following.”

“Do you have a test I could borrow? A pee test.”

“A pee—? Holy shit. How long ago was all of his?”

“Ten days,” Dean says, wincing when he realizes he left Cas high-n-dry almost two weeks ago.

“Okay that should be enough time to get an accurate result. Get your ass over here right now. Sam won’t be home for another couple of hours and I just so happen to have a box of tests.”

Dean is nervous when he knocks on the door, nervous when Jess presses a test into his hand and shoves him into the bathroom, and he’s nervous as he waits two minutes for the results.

“I can hear you pacing,” he yells.

From outside the door Jess yells back, “What does it fucking say?”

The timer Dean set on his phone dings. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. First he cracks one eye open, and then the other, exhaling loudly.

Negative.

His initial reaction is elation, followed by the unexpected punch of disappointment.

“What the fuck,” he mutters as he looks at himself in the mirror. “Get your emotions in check, dude.”

Dean tosses the stick into the trash can and takes one last look at the dark circles under his eyes before he wrenches the door open. Jess almost falls into him from having been leaning on the door.

“No pup,” he quips.

Jess’ face falls but she quickly recovers. “But that’s what you want, right?”

“Huge relief,” he lies. For some stupid reason he still has that hollow feeling in his chest. He's made shitty mistakes in his life but he feels like absolute shit right now. “You and Sam are supposed to be workin’ on that, not me.”  
  
The following day is a Tuesday, a work day, but Dean decides that he needs to go to Cas to apologize and do the whole break-up thing properly, let Cas go and find an Omega who is more his match and isn't so fucked up that they run every time they get scared.  
  
He has to wait for a delivery so Dean stays much later than normal. By the time he leaves the bakery it's late enough that Cas may already be home, so Dean goes there first.

Except when he gets there, all the houses in the neighborhood look the same and he can’t remember which one belongs to Cas. He didn’t look at his mail when he was wandering the house and he didn’t look for a house number when he ran away like a coward.

He decides to just knock and ask neighbors, or maybe he’ll get lucky and find the correct one.

The first two doors he knocks on go unanswered. He bypasses the one lawn that has a For Sale sign and knocks on the place next door. No one answers again.

The house on the other side of it is answered by a kind, wrinkled old woman. Her hands shake terribly but her smile is warm.

“What can I do for ya, sweetheart?”

“I’m looking for Castiel Novak. He lives around here but I can’t remember his house number. He’s yay big, dark hair, blue eyes?”

“Yes, I knew Castiel. Well, his place was next door, honey.” The woman leans out her door and lifts a shaky arm to the place that’s for sale.

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically. It's only been eleven days now. Who puts up their house for sale that fast?

“Son, I may be old but I ain’t stupid. Castiel always helped me with my groceries. I’m mighty sad he’s gone now. I hope he’s in a better place.” She looks sad but then sighs deeply, smiles and says, “You take care now,” before closing the door.

Dean can hear the bolt slip into the lock like a gunshot ringing in his ears.

Surely she can’t mean... Numbly, Dean pulls out his phone and does a search but he can’t find any obituary for a Castiel. He must have just misunderstood her.

His next best bet is to go to Cas’ office. He’s running on adrenaline now. He knows he’d be stinking of fear if it weren’t for blockers, when he pushes through the doors and looks around for the nearest warm body.

“‘Scuse me, sir, I’m wondering if you can help me?” he asks a businessman sitting in a waiting area, reading a newspaper.

“You,” a loud, authoritative voice echoes.

Dean looks over his right shoulder. A familiar brunette woman is angrily stalking toward him, her heels clacking loudly.

“Hey, you know Cas,” he says in relief, recognizing Hannah. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

She narrows her eyes, stopping just short of being able to reach up and slap him if she wanted to. And she kinda looks like she wants to.

“You have some nerve. Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for Cas,” he says impatiently. He wants to add, ‘ _Isn’t it obvious?!’_ but he doesn’t.

“Well, you aren’t going to find him here. He’s gone. I suggest you leave before I have security help you leave.”

“What do you mean he’s _gone_?” Dean asks, dread snaking up his body to choke him. He swallows several times to try and swallow the terrible, nauseating feeling down.

“Victor, get security,” she snaps without looking away from Dean.

Dean holds up his hands and backs away but another voice rings out in the expansive lobby.

“Dean? Dean Winchester?” a man with a British accent is saying. Dean stares a moment and realizes it is Cas’ cousin and he hurries toward him and away from the stern woman.

“Yeah, that's me," he all but snaps, his patience gone. "Where’s Cas?”

“Why don’t we go up to my office so we can talk privately?”

Dean’s heart sinks but he agrees. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.”

“I’m Balthazar, by the way. I don’t believe we were properly introduced.” He doesn’t offer to shake Dean’s hand but he does wave away the incoming security personnel. “He’s with me.”

Dean follows Balthazar to the elevators, taking it up a few dozen dizzying stories. The office ends up being really refined, with an air of playboy charm.

Dean waits until he’s seated before speaking. “Look, I came here looking for Cas, but no one seems to want to tell me where he is or what's goin' on.”

Balthazar is stone-faced and unyielding, giving nothing away. The man opens his mouth and what he says turns Dean’s blood to ice. “Castiel is gone now. He dispersed his assets and made me promise to offer you a business opportunity before he left.”  
  
Reaching below his desk, Balthazar comes up with a pile of clothes. He passes them across the desk like they personally offend him. They're the clothes Dean had left at Cas' house in his rush to get away...

“He’s gone,” Dean says numbly, holding the clothes on his lap, imagining all kinds of ways Cas could have died. And one way in particular that makes him want to throw up and punch things and scream. “Wh-what happened?”

“Don’t you know?” Balthazar asks, his brows raised, wrinkling his forehead. “I suspect something poetic like, ‘You broke his bloody heart,’ is a succinct way to put it.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“Yes, well." Balthazar clears his throat. "He wanted to be sure you’d be taken care of and made me also promise to not speak of him so let’s move this along, shall we?”

“Whatever it is," Dean says sharply, looking up from touching a button on his jacket. A faint scent of leather and espresso comes from the fabric, twisting Dean's heart. "I don’t want it.”

Balthazar looks mildly amused as he pulls a file out from a stack that he’s fingering through. “It’s not charity. It’s not like he’s just giving you money for nothing. Do you know of Fergus Crowley?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Well, he is building a restaurant and Castiel had this big idea to use locally sourced product, as much as possible.”

“What’re you saying?”

“Pies, Mr. Winchester. We would have a standing order with your bakery to make the pies. If Cassie hadn’t made me sign a bloody contract, I’d be asking for wholesale pricing. As it is, I am required to offer you full price. We will need them fresh, daily.”

Balthazar scoots the file closer to Dean when he doesn’t immediately pounce on it. He can’t think straight. Hell, he can’t even feel anything right now except for how tight his chest is and how hard it is to breathe. He needs to go, to get out of here, to run, to--

“Is everything alright?”

Dean shakes his head to clear away the cobwebbing thoughts. “Yeah,” he snaps. “Why wouldn’t they be?” He slides the file onto the clothes on his lap and stands up. “I’m gonna need to think about this.”

“Of course. It’ll be some time before we actually need your services. But we are willing to pay a portion in advance, in a show of good faith.”

Dean snorts. “Good faith,” he mumbles. He's getting angry now. Angry that this pompous ass wants to talk business when Dean's heart is breaking. “Yeah, okay, I know I only make cookies and pies and shit, but I know these things always comes down to money and control with you big shots. I said I’ll think about it.”

“And, like I said, Castiel made the contract and made it clear that you were to be given this opportunity without any of the, what would you call it? Fineprint bullshit. He wanted to do this for you, even though I think he’s an absolute idiot for having done so.”

“Why?” Dean asks quietly. “Why would he do anything for me?”

“That, my dear, is exactly what I ask myself. But,” Balthazar sighs, “I’m sure it is some romanticized notion of chivalry. Take it, look it over, call me with your decision. I, personally, couldn’t care less if you take it or not. I almost hope you don’t.”

Dean clutches the clothing against his chest and leaves without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

  
  
Coming off of suppressants has proven more challenging than Cas had bargained. For starters, mood swings are an understatement. His best course of action, for the moment, is to stay secluded at his bed-and-breakfast, namely in the room that he’s claimed as his own just off of the kitchen.  
  
He's living here while it is under construction, even though it was not part of his original plan. He just couldn't stay at the house any longer. But he finds it works out in his favor because the realtor mentioned that it would be easier to show the house to potential buyers if no one lived there.  
  
After cleaning out the house, he paid a specialized cleaning crew to deep clean it of any Alpha and Omega scents, and it shouldn't be long before a new couple or young family fills it with life.  
  
As for the bed-and-breakfast, a construction crew comes and goes between sunrise to well past dark. He’s paying them to get the job done as quickly as possible in these early winter months. No snow has fallen but he can smell the ice in the air.

The foundation was the first to be repaired. The driveway will be repaved, wood rot taken will be taken out and replaced, wiring, plumbing— the list never ends.

The layout and location are what drew Cas to this house. The front door opens up to a foyer with a sweeping staircase. There’s a parlor and fireplace to the left and a formal dining on the right.

A hallway on each side of the staircase leads to a bathroom and den on one side and a bedroom and laundry on the other before opening up to the kitchen at the back.

Behind the kitchen is a large bedroom, with a second smaller room, that he assumes is a mud room, since it sits between the kitchen and has a door that leads to the yard.

Cas has taken that back room for himself. He loves that he can see out into the backyard, where he plans to have a large garden. He quietly fixes it up himself since this new room isn't in disrepair, just dirty. He chooses a soft yellow paint to keep the room bright.

Once he is done with painting for the day, he sits and stares out those very windows. Right now the trees are bare, and empty garden beds wait for new life. He daydreams of spring and of sharing this home with guests.  
  
The second story is where he will rent out rooms. The stairs at the front of the house lead up to four spacious bedrooms and two bathrooms. He will add locks to each of the rooms but everyone must share the bathrooms. He is still deciding if he wants to add two more bathrooms, to ensure each room has a private bath. The designer part of him screams at him to add them, but the introspective part of him argues that he should just keep it simple and leave it alone.

The sound of hammering and a compressor for a nail gun startle him from his reverie. He picks up his phone and dials a familiar number. He already called it once yesterday but hung up when Dean answered the bakery’s phone gruffly.

This time a cheerful woman answers, “Traveling Riverside Bakery, how can I help you?”

“Uh, yes, hello. I’d like to talk to you about placing a weekly order for my bed-and-breakfast. I’d like to have freezable desserts to serve to guests.”

“Sure, we can do that. But if this is an ongoing order then you may want to discuss this with the owner for a price break. If you can hold, I can grab him—“

“No,” Cas blurts out. “I mean, I’m willing to pay full price so it isn’t necessary to bother him. What is your name?”

“I’m Charlie." she says brightly.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m, um,” Cas hesitates, glancing around his room until it lands on the King James Bible on his nightstand. “James. You can call me... Jimmy.  And I have no problem placing an order every week if you, specifically, promise to deliver it. It’s a little out of the ways and I will pay extra toward the delivery fees.”

“Uh, that’s not creepy at all…”

“What?” Cas asks in confusion and then he realizes that this sounds like it could be the beginning of a serial killer movie. Most people who order probably live in neat little neighborhoods or come in for pickup. “It’s nothing untoward, I promise you. I want to support local businesses. I’m not really a baker.”

“Yeah, okay.” She clears her throat. "Of course."  
  
“Look,” Cas sighs, “I have anxiety. Just making this call is difficult. And as a business owner, who has a lot on his plate, I understand that your boss needs to delegate so I don’t want to bother him. If you, or another employee, can make the deliveries, I would be grateful.”

He can hear the woman sigh and he knows she’ll do it. “Could you tell me how you’ll plan on paying?”

Cas thinks quickly. Using a card or check would give him away. “Cash. I will pay in advance, including your gas and delivery fee, of course.”

They go over the pastry choices and Cas selects an array of muffins and rolls that she says they can deliver frozen and have him thaw for guests.

“I won’t need anything for the bed-and-breakfast just yet but I have a construction crew here that would probably love the pastries. I will send payment and the address via courier later today, for a delivery tomorrow morning?” When Charlie gives him a chipper, affirmative answer he ends the call with a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

Cas lets out a shaky breath. The house is nowhere near ready for guests. He still has furniture, linens, decor, dishes, and so much more to think about now that he feels like he’s able to take care of his (not his) Omega.

 

   
  
When Charlie tells Dean about the strange caller, his hackles immediately go up.

“I mean, I wasn’t going to not tell you about it,” she scoffs as she washes her hands at the sink. “At first it was creepy but I think that, maybe, he just didn’t realize how he sounded.”

“I’m glad you told me. No way in hell you're going to some unknown person’s house, out in fucking in Timbuktu, by special request like that. Garth will go, or I will.”

Charlie turns from the sink, wet hands on her hips, leaving streaks of water against her pants. “Is that because I’m a woman?” she huffs indignantly.

Dean refuses to be cowed. “No, you’re family. And if some doughnut-eating serial killer, with a fetish for red hair, nabs you… I’ll never forgive myself.”

Charlie rolls her eyes and grabs several paper towels from the dispenser next to the sink. “How about Garth and I both go, armed with pocket tasers? Safety in numbers.” She shrugs. “We’ll scope it out and if the hermit turns out honest, I’ve got no problem making extra money from tips. Besides, the bakery can use the orders, especially since he insists on paying full price for the trouble...”  
  
“I still don’t like the idea,” Dean growls, unsmiling. They make countless deliveries but something about the special request is rubbing Dean in all the wrong ways, maybe because of how secretive it sounds. “I’ll just go.”  
  
“Dean, you may be my boss but you’re more like an annoying, overbearing brother. I can do this so please don’t fucking coddle me. Besides, he said he has anxiety. Maybe he’s an Omega who has an issue with Alphas or men or something. And you're kinda intimidating looking, whereas Garth isn't.”  
  
“Fine. But I’m holding you to the part about taking a taser... and mace... and have me on speed dial.”

Unaware of Dean’s internal conflict, Charlie happily hums as she pulls out large mixing bowls and disappears into the back pantry.  

Dean tiredly returns to filling muffin tins with batter. Not even being in the kitchen is helping to alleviate the cold grip that doesn’t ever seem to stop clenching around his heart.

Somehow, in some unclear way, he’s responsible for Cas’ death? Disappearance? He heard the elderly neighbor. He saw the rage from Cas’ coworker and his cousin. Clearly, they blame him.  
  
And he can’t help but blame himself. He’s the one who wanted it all and then he was the one who slapped Cas in the face. And the longer he stayed away, the more cowardly he got about contacting Cas. What if Cas had needed him and he hadn’t been there?  
  
But then, why didn’t Cas ever try to contact him either? He has looked at it objectively and it always boiled down to the fact that Cas had kept insisting he didn’t want to butt into Dean’s life. The Alpha wanted an invite rather than forcing himself onto Dean.  
  
Part of Dean really appreciates that, but the more primal part of him had wanted Cas to just say what he wanted and go for it. Then again, Dean didn’t want to impose his redneck self onto the well-off Alpha. What a fucking pair they are-- were.  
  
Dean hasn’t told anyone else about it. Jess only knows about the test, but not who Dean slept with. And, apparently, he recently learned that Omegas are only fertile during heat so not only did he freak out for no damn reason, but he unfairly dragged Cas down, too.

The afternoon wears on and around two o’clock Dean is ready to turn off the OPEN sign and just call it quits for the day. Or the rest of the week. He just wants to curl up in his dark townhouse, wrapped around a bottle, until he can sleep and can forget the pain and the guilt.

The bell above the door jingles. He glances up, his heart tripping with hope, as it usually does. Hoping that he’s been wrong. That, like a scene from a movie, Cas walks in like someone back from the dead. That Cas comes after him, for once.

But it’s a gangly kid with dark chocolate skin and a Manila envelope attached to a clipboard.

Dean takes off his gloves and greets the boy at one of the enclosed, glass display counters.

“Have a parcel for you,” the kid says. He gives Dean the envelope and passes the clipboard to be signed.  

Dean grunts his thanks and rips into the envelope when Charlie rejoins him in the kitchen.

“Guess your Jimmy guy is serious,” Dean says. He hands the contents of the package to Charlie. “Since you took the order, and knows what he wants, input it into the register and put the cash in the drawer.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” she says, taking it over.

Dean arrives at the bakery in the morning after a couple hours of fitful sleep. He knows he looks like a bloodshot, pasty mess, with scruff that could really use a trim. But he wanted to be at the bakery, still nervous about this weird order.  
  
And there’s no better cure for nerves than keeping his mind and hands busy. Charlie arrives a couple of hours after him, just as the sun begins to rise. She doesn’t say anything about Dean being there already, and probably looking dead on his feet.  
  
Instead she quietly starts brewing coffee for the oversized carafes at the coffee station in the front of the shop and flips the sign on the door for early morning people seeking breakfast and caffeine.  
  
He’s even more nervous once Garth arrives and his two workers pack up a box filled with pastries and leave. It turns out that everything with Jimmy is legit. Both Charlie and Garth return to the bakery --with money for another order for tomorrow-- in high spirits.

“The estate and land he’s got,” Garth whistles. “It’s gonna be beautiful. Well, I need to get started on inventory so if you need anything, Dean, I’ll be in the back.”

“That place  _is_ cool,” Charlie says as she washes her hands. “Crawling with construction dudes and dudettes, but you can tell it’s gonna be one kickass vaca spot. I’m totally gonna see if Dorothy wants to go. Jimmy said we could be his first, for free, before he officially opens. Can you believe that?”

“Wait, what is this place again?”

“You know, a bed-and-breakfast? Like a hotel, but in someone’s house?”

Dean’s heart skips a beat but he scowls, dismissing the thoughts that suddenly flood him. It’s just a coincidence. “I know what a B&B is, Charlie,” he chastises.

“They’re finishing up some walls and a banister on the stairs.” Charlie lists a few other projects. “Paint, finishing floors, all that Jazz.”

“Wow,” Dean says without emotion. He couldn’t care less about what some old guy is doing with his house. Especially not when it reminds him of Cas’ dream.

“He guesses that the crew will be done in about two weeks, so can I get some time off? Pretty, pretty please with hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles on top?”

Dean would love nothing more than to shut down shop for a bit, period. His heart just isn’t in it. Maybe he’ll do just that while Charlie has her charming little sleepover at this Jimmy’s place.

“Yup,” he replies gruffly. “Take the time you need.”

“Dean,” Charlie sighs. “Maybe you should take some time off and check this place out, too. You can relax, get away from the city and balancing books and baking...”

“If I’m takin’ time off, I’m fishing. Not living it up in some stale, old house that’s probably haunted by the ghosts of grannies past. Sorry, but I don’t want to sit around playing Solitaire and drinking eggnog, while someone plays the piano forte.” Actually, he’d probably love it but he’s not admitting that to Charlie.

Charlie snaps her fingers. “There is a pond. Oh, but it’s probably not stocked. Or whatever it is you fishy people look for when fishing.”

Dean snorts in amusement. “See? It’s fate. But you and Dorothy have a good time.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Jimmy is really cool. He said he’d even let me help design a room or two. Like, he’s already got the walls painted, but still has to do a color scheme or a theme for the guest rooms.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean mutters, half-listening as Charlie prattles on about whether or not Jimmy would let her do a Death Star theme, or maybe Harry Potter, when she mentions the gardens.

“Yeah, he’s got garden beds. Really big ones, but since we’re heading into winter, they’re empty.”

Dean can’t breathe but somehow forces himself to ask, “Charlie, is he an Alpha?”

Charlie pauses and looks over in confusion. “How would I know? I can’t scent like you Alphas and Omegas, not to mention ya just don’t ask someone.” Charlie laughs and shakes her head.

Something isn’t clicking. He struggles with the details that he knows, trying to get them to match up. He can’t let it go and pushes for more information. “What exactly did he say when he first called?”

“He said he wanted me, specifically, to deliver stuff that he could freeze, and that he didn’t want to bother you, specifically," Charlie says and Dean thinks that sounds about right for someone who was jilted to say. "And that he wanted to support a local bakery since he can’t bake.”

“What did he look like?” Dean holds up a hand at his eye level. “This tall?”

“Uh yeah, maybe. And he had dark hair but blue eyes. Close to our age. Why?” Charlie stands and turns to fully face Dean, a hand on her hip.  
  
With shaky hands, Dean pulls out his phone and pulls up the picture he saved from the Sandover directory. “Is this him?”  
  
Charlie grins and Dean’s entire world shifts dangerously, his knees going weak. He knows what she’s going to say before she says it. “Yup, that’s him. Wait, why do you have his photo?”

“When is his next order?” Dean asks desperately.


	7. Chapter 7

  
  
Cas is able to use the kitchen without a crew underfoot since most of the current work is upstairs. He puts on a pot of coffee in anticipation of Charlie’s arrival. The crew had devoured the pastries she had delivered yesterday so he had put in another order for this morning.

Both Charlie and Garth were enamored by the house and the construction going on. Before he knew it, he was taking them on a tour, and she was signed up to be his first guest. Cas was easily roped in by her charm and found himself asking her opinion on designing one of the rooms because he is overwhelmed by indecision.

It wasn’t until after she left that he saw the flaw in this plan. Bringing her in close could bring her circle of friends close to him. Namely Dean.

Maybe he secretly hopes it will. If Dean sees that Cas can be so good for him, even if he can’t have kids, then maybe Dean will give him a chance. The thought is short-lived and Cas huffs at himself for romanticizing what was just a drunken romp. They hardly know each other and if Dean ever found out about him, well, infertility is hardly a winning hand.

He still can’t stop thinking about the way Dean looked at him, the way Dean would whipser his name when they had sex, his admittance that Cas was his only Alpha… was it all a show? A farce?

It’s hard to believe that of Dean but the evidence is in his abrupt leaving, isn’t it? And even if it was a bunch of lies, Cas’ stupid, unsuppressed Alpha still wants the Omega. Dean is his, and he’s supposed to be with him. Even now Dean is out there, alone, and Cas feels like he’s going mad with the helplessness of all of these emotions.

So far, Balthazar has not heard back from Dean regarding the restaurant proposal. Dean clearly wants nothing to do with him. It’s best to keep the bed-and-breakfast a secret and take care of his Omega from afar because if Dean finds out Cas is Jimmy —or is it that Jimmy is Cas?— he’ll pull the plug on Cas’ bakery orders.

He blankly watches the black liquid drip into the glass pot. It’s a pipedream, getting to have Dean, and the sooner he accepts it, the better.   
  
He’s just pulling down a mug when someone pounds at the door behind him. He had told Charlie to use the backdoor until the construction was done because there is debris all over the front of the house still.   
  
“It’s open,” he calls, pouring his morning dose of caffeine into the plain black mug. He sets the coffee pot back in the drip-maker as the door opens and closes. He reaches up for another mug, asking Charlie, “Do you want coffee before you go?”   
  
Cas turns to smile at her just as the scent of spiced apples reaches him, his smile slowly slipping away.   
  
Dean is standing in the kitchen, pale, staring at him like he’s seen a ghost.   
  
“I can explain,” Cas says hurriedly, sloshing coffee and burning his hand as he hurriedly sets his mug on the counter behind him. He hardly notices the sting as his heart rate accelerates.   
  
His shock only intensifies when Dean takes a few long strides across the room and wraps his arms around Cas, burying his face in Cas’ shoulder. “I thought you were dead,” he whispers, a hint of tears in his voice.   
  
“I’m sorry, what?” Cas asks, confused by Dean’s words and this affection. Cas pulls away, backed into the counter, and Dean steps back, blushing furiously.   
  
“I have been looking everywhere for you. You just... disappeared and everyone said-- well, I thought you died.”   
  
“You thought I was _dead_ ? But you... looked for me?” Cas asks in disbelief. “You knew where I worked, where I lived. I didn’t move, or quit my job, for a week after you left, so I’m confused as to when you tried to contact me.”

Dean guiltily looks away. “I freaked out, okay? I just got in my own head, talked myself out of a good thing.”

Cas frowns. He needs something to do and his stinging skin reminds him he needs to deal with his burn. He grabs a bowl and goes to the sink, filling it with lukewarm water.   
  
They really don’t know each other very well at all and all of this seems way more complicated than it ever should have been. He keeps his back to Dean, putting his burnt hand in the water.   
  
“Cas, I’m sorry.”   
  
“What do you have to be sorry for, Dean?” he asks neutrally without turning around. “I thought you were just giving me a taste of my own medicine, and rightfully so. And, honestly, you’re better off without me anyway.” So much for fighting for Dean and trying to win him over.   
  
For the first time in a long time, in years, a burning sensation begins behind his eyes, warning Cas of impending tears. He sniffs to try and fight it, trying to think of something other than being a worthless Alpha who can’t claim his mate properly, can’t have pups, can’t do anything right…   
  
“Hey, don’t talk like that. And you didn’t do anything wrong so there was no ‘ _giving you a taste of your own medicine_ ’,” Dean says softly. He sounds close, the heat of him beginning to warm Cas’ back. “I wasn’t-- It's just that I overheard your brother and I got freaked out.”   
  
Cas flinches, staring at his hand in the bowl of water until his vision blurs. A tentative hand touches his shoulder.   
  
“Look at me, please?” Dean asks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was only thinking about myself and I didn’t _think_.”   
  
“If you heard my brother and me, why did you come back?” Cas asks, straightening up and looking over defiantly. “I can’t give you a family, Dean. I am broken.”   
  
“What do you mean?” Dean asks in confusion and Cas turns a little to lean a hip against the counter and somewhat face the Omega. “What are you talking about?”   
  
“What did you hear?” Cas asks hesitantly.   
  
“I heard your brother yell something about having beautiful babies and, no offense, but I ain’t ready for that. It just sorta hit me that we had unprotected sex and I panicked.”   
  
“Well, you won’t ever have to panic about _that_.” Cas says bitterly, pulling away again, his hand dripping wet. He goes to the other end of the kitchen to look through a box to try and find a dish towel. “I’m sterile,” he says when he’s straightened up and can see Dean clearly.   
  
Cas watches as Dean closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, shaking his head ever so slightly. Obviously regretting coming out here now.   
  
“Like I said, broken. I’m a pathetic excuse for an Alpha, and I always have been. I’d much rather live in solitude and make a refuge for strangers than to be on the top of some corporate ladder and I’m not-- I can’t--”   
  
“Cas,” Dean says pleadingly, opening his eyes but Cas can’t meet the tearful green, “you’re not the only one with baggage and problems. Case in point, my running off. Ain’t the first time I’ve gotten spooked and needed time. I can try --no, I will-- I'll do better. And, I dunno, communicate that I need space.”   
  
Cas looks up at Dean quizzically, his brow stitching together. What is Dean saying?   
  
“I mean, if you’ll give me a chance, anyway,” Dean adds, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I realize I have a long way to go to earn your trust but I’d like to try.”   
  
“I… don’t understand.”   
  
“I’ve waited to meet my mate, my whole life, only to turn around and fuck it up. But I hope I’m not too late because, somehow, we keep finding each other. And I don’t want _this_ to be the end of the story. I want to make it up to you, I want to get to know you.”   
  
Cas’ hear soars but he needs to make sure Dean didn’t misunderstand him and asks him just that. “Do you understand what I just told you? I am sterile. I can’t even give you a family.”   
  
Dean’s lip quirks into a small, sad smile. “Then we make one. Family don’t have to be blood. And,” Dean looks away, shrugging his shoulders, “not in a major rush anyway. Your snoring might be a deal breaker, who knows?”      
  
“I don’t snore,” Cas replies indignantly.   
  
“Sure, sure, whatever you say. But I heard you. I woke up first, remember?”   
  
Cas smiles a little, realizing Dean is teasing him. But it turns a little sad to remember back to that morning. “Yes, I do remember. You were baking and seemed happy…”   
  
“I _was_ happy, Cas. And I got scared because of it, and because you’re too perfect, and because I’m not used to good things happening.”   
  
“Clearly, I’m not perfect,” Cas says, still bitter about his own fertility.   
  
Dean ducks his head. “Honestly? And I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ve never really thought of myself as the barefoot-n-pregnant type. I mean, I would’ve been on board if it ever happened, but there are other ways to have a family, if it even comes to it.”   
  
“You’re not just saying that to try and appease me, are you?”   
  
“No, I’m not a bullshitter. Well, maybe in certain circumstances. But not with you, and definitely not about this. I do want a family, ain’t gonna lie, but it doesn’t have to come from my body.”   
  
Cas takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, giving Dean a shy smile. “Okay, I believe you.”   
  
“Can I look at your hand?” Dean asks suddenly and Cas looks down at it, completely forgetting he hurt himself. He holds it up to Dean, who takes it gingerly in his warm hands, thumbs brushing over Cas’ wrist. Cas chuckles, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.   
  


  
  
“I can smell how nervous you are. Just chill.” Dean is driving the Impala and they’re about five minutes away from Sam and Jess’ place. It took him some time to get to this point, of introducing Cas to his family. He wanted Cas to himself, to feel everything out.   
  
And it’s been… wonderful. Even still, he gets nervous if he thinks too far into the future because he doesn't want to ruin this. If he takes baby steps, it ain’t so bad.   
  
“Yes, but I’m pretty sure your brother would like nothing more than to punch my lights out. I would prefer to not get into an Alpha-on-Alpha altercation with Sam before I’ve even had a chance to say hello. These… moods are still new and I am fairly protective of you.”   
  
“Hey, I made it through a couple of meetings with Balthazar after everything happened. Don’t think he’ll ever like me but at least he tolerates me now. I think,” Dean adds with uncertainty.   
  
“But this is your brother, whom you helped to raise, and are extremely close to. I don’t want to be tolerated. I want his approval and to be accepted.”   
  
Dean sighs. “Yeah, I want that, too,” he admits. From what he could gauge from his brother, over the phone, was that Sam was extremely eager to meet Cas. But Dean couldn’t tell if it was an _‘I’m so happy to meet you,’_ eagerness, or a, ' _You’re the one who made my brother miserable all those months ago and I wanna kick your ass,’_ eagerness.   
  
They pull up to the little house, each of them taking loud, deep breaths before looking over at each other and chuckling.   
  
“Ready to meet the parents?” Dean jokes. He feels a little nauseous and worried that Sam will grill Cas and make his Alpha uncomfortable at the very least.   
  
Cas nods and they make their way up the door. It swings open before they can even knock. Jess’ big ball of blonde hair is instantly in Dean’s face as she squeals and wraps an arm around each of their necks. All three of their heads conk together lightly before Jess pulls back, lowering herself down from her tiptoes.   
  
“It is so good to finally meet you, Cas.”   
  
“Jesus, Jess, let them in the door,” Sam says, coming into the foyer behind her and beckoning them all to come in.   
  
Taking a deep breath, Dean says, “Sam, Jess, this is Castiel,” once they’ve joined Sam and Jess in the foyer.   
  
Sam appraises Cas a moment, eyes flicking to Dean, before he finally smiles and sticks out his hand. After the pleasantries, they head to the kitchen where Charlie is waiting with Dorothy.   
  
“Now that I’m here, the party can start,” Dean announces loudly as he comes up behind his Beta employee and tickles her.   
  
Charlie immediately curls into herself and falls to the ground to get away. She absolutely hates being tickled. “Dammit, Dean,” she complains, Dorothy laughing heartily as she helps her mate up.   
  
“Gotta be more alert, Celeste. Never know when an attack will come outta nowhere.”   
  
Brushing herself off, she playfully punches Dean’s shoulder and then turns to Cas, pulling him into a hug. “See? This is how you greet friends, Dean. Take notes.”   
  
Cas chuckles as he returns the hug and gives Dorothy one as well, having met her when the couple had come to stay at the bed-and-breakfast. Dean finds himself wrapped up in each of the Betas arms for hugs as well. When the hell did they all become huggers?   
  
“We’re just waiting on Garth and Bess and then we can dig in,” Sam says behind them all. He rubs his hands together nervously and Jess busies herself at the counter, her cheeks flushed.   
  
Dean gently sniffs the air but Sam and Jess are both wearing blockers, weirdly enough. They're mated so they don’t really _need_ to wear blockers, so why are they, especially in their own home?   
  
“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asks softly, his chest pressing against Dean’s shoulder when he steps close.   
  
“Yeah, but something is up with those two,” he says, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he watches his brother brush a hand over Jess’ back and hover around her.   
  
The doorbell rings. Dean continues to watch Sam and Jess as they eagerly go to answer the door, coming back with Garth and Bess. Sam is still hovering around Jess in a way he’s never really seen him do before. Like he’s being extra possessive…   
  
Garth immediately wraps his arms around Dean, squeezing him tight. “You look so damn happy, Dean. Cas, nice to see you again.” Garth lets him go and throws himself into Cas’ stiff arms. “Bess and I can’t wait to stay at the big ol’ BnB for our babymoon.”   
  
“How’re you feeling, Bess?” Dean asks, giving her a side hug, her rounded stomach prominent.   
  
“Oh, well,” she says, thinking a moment, “done. Like, stick a fork in me.” She smiles slyly. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get first hand experience yourself in the near future.”   
  
As she chuckles and joins Garth across the room, Dean shares a look with Cas and gives him a reassuring smile. He knows it’s an extremely sore subject for Cas, his sterility not something they plan on sharing with everyone, not unless Cas is comfortable with it.   
  
When Cas had first told him that he was sterile, Dean instantly felt like the biggest moron on the planet for having a fucking pregnancy scare, and then had to take a moment to absorb the information. Despite being torn about the negative pregnancy test, and the fact that he’s wanted a family, he was shockingly at peace.  
  
He wasn’t lying when he told Cas that there were other ways to make a family. He later reassured him that he didn’t have to experience pregnancy to feel like a complete Omega, and that not being fertile made Cas any less of a person.     
  
But right now, it’s a moot point. They’re just dating, not running to the altar. Even if they were, children aren’t conditional of his love-- err, feelings. Yeah, uh, feelings. Or bond. Or… whatever. Shut up.   
  
“Alright, food is on, you guys. Plates here, and there’s a crockpot of beans over by the sink so don’t forget to get some,” Jess announces a little breathlessly. She puts a hand on her stomach, just under her breasts. “I, uh, will be right back.”   
  
“Do you see what I mean?” Dean asks Cas out of the side of his mouth, watching Sam follow Jess briskly down the hall to the bathroom.   
  
Cas just shakes his head and hands Dean a plate. “Maybe her heat or his rut is starting soon.”   
  
“Ah, yeah, didn’t think about that.” The tips of Dean’s ears burn. He has no problem talking about heats and ruts, but the fact that he can see his brother practically dancing around his mate makes him feel like a voyeur. “Maybe we shouldn’t overstay our welcome, then, if you catch my drift.”   
  
Everyone gets situated around the living room with food, listening to Charlie and Dorothy tag-team the telling ot a story about their last date night faux pas when Dean sees Sam walk back into the kitchen.   
  
He pats Cas’ knee and whispers, "Be right back," so he can check on his brother.   
  
“Sam, what’s going on? Been here twenty and have seen you for maybe. Is everything okay? Should-- do we need to clear out?”   
  
“What? No,” Sam says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard. He brushes a hand over his face, fighting a smile. What the hell is wrong with his brother?   
  
“Okay, well, is Jess okay?”   
  
“Yeah, she’s fine. She’ll be out in just a minute. She’s having stomach issues.” Sam’s lips twitch again and Dean narrows his eyes. “Anyway, so, Cas? You’ve only been talking about him nonstop and it’s good to finally put a face to a name.”   
  
“Honestly, we’re both kinda shocked you didn’t go all Alpha on him.”   
  
Sam shrugs. “You explained everything and you both made mistakes. You’re truemates--” Sam’s voice is cut off by Dean’s groan. “What? You are!”   
  
“Yeah, I know. I don’t know what my problem is because, inside, I get so fucking happy to hear that. But then my mouth and brain try to shit all over it.”   
  
“Wow, Dean. That’s… quite a visual.”   
  
“Shaddup,” Dean says half-heartedly.   
  
Jess timidly comes into the room, loops an arm around Sam’s waist and the two look at each other like a couple of big saps.   
  
“Good god, Sam. You two are sickening, ya know that? You’re both practically glowing.” Dean pretends to shield his eyes and laughs but Sam just looks like a deer caught in headlights.   
  
“Sam,” Jess teases, poking him in the stomach with her free hand. “I think that’s our cue. Let’s do it now.”   
  
“Alright, come on, Dean. Go sit next to Cas,” Sam orders, probably without meaning to bring the snap of his Alpha tone, and Dean obeys in a huff of annoyance. “So, everybody, we have an announcement to make and we thought now, with our family together, would be the perfect time…”   
  
“We’re having a pup,” Jess screeches, her whole body going rigid with excitement and Sam’s facing turning ten shades of scarlet. They’re immediately surrounded by the other two couples while Dean sits, stunned.   
  
“I’m gonna be… an uncle?” Dean says in wonder. “Cas,” he says, throwing his arm around Cas and pulling him close, “We're gonna be uncles!”   
  
He can feel the rumble of Cas’ chuckle against his chest, Dean’s heart feeling lighter and more carefree than he ever remembers. He peppers Cas’ face with several kisses before getting up to congratulate the happy couple.


	8. Chapter 8

  
Approximately eighteen months later; May.

 

“Traveling Riverside Bed-and-Breakfast,” Dean says into the phone just as Cas steps into the kitchen from the garden. Dean grins at him and dusts his hands off on his thighs, wandering over to the desk that they put in a corner of the kitchen. It is where they keep their computer.  
  
Cas sets out produce that he had collected from the garden, washing the dirt from each piece in the sink while he listens to Dean answer several questions about room rates and availability.   
  
“Okay, we look forward to seeing you then. Thanks, bye.” Dean hangs up the cordless phone and lets it clatter to the desk. Cas knows it’ll probably be sticky with sugar. They really should wrap the phone in plastic when Dean is busy baking.  
  
“Sorry,” Cas says, looking over at Dean, “I heard the phone and was coming in to answer it so you wouldn’t be interrupted. I should have just taken the phone with me.”  
  
“S’okay, Cas. All I have left to do is cut these cinnamon rolls and let ‘em rise,” Dean says, coming up behind Cas, arms wrapping around his waist. “You’re gonna have flour all over your back now.”  
  
“Hmm, seems par for the course with you around,” Cas says fondly.  
  
With a laugh, and a chaste kiss to the back of Cas’ neck, Dean pulls away and bumps their hips together. “Lemme wash my hands real quick so I can finish this up and get ready for tonight.”  
  
Cas moves and patiently waits for Dean to soap up his hands, rinse them off, and return to the kitchen island where he has an enormous roll of sticky, sweet dough rolled into a log.  
  
After all the produce is dry, the rolls are rising, and the kitchen mess is cleaned up, they wander into their room together to get ready.  
  
Cas gives Dean the shower first while he picks out an outfit and sets it out, reflecting on the past year-and-a-half. He nervously traces a seam on the dress shirt laid out on the bed, wondering for the millionth time if he’s making the right decision.  
  
When they tentatively decided to try and have a relationship, it was a delicate dance of each of them overcoming their own misgivings and finding their stride together. They both had to learn when it was okay to have space, and when it was okay to go after one another.  
  
They were together for six months when they decided to merge their businesses, but Dean didn’t move into the bed-and-breakfast for another two months after that. He was already over here so much that it was a gradual blending and it simply became apparent that he didn’t need his townhouse.  
  
Cas had to reassure Dean that there was no pressure for anything long-term. One thing he learned about Dean fairly quickly was that the Omega is gun-shy. He could see Dean wanted more and more, but Dean still struggled with his inner voice telling him that everything would fall apart if he let go and let himself be happy.  
  
Each month, since Dean had officially moved in, Cas has talked himself out of asking Dean for a bite-bond. They’re housemates, lovers, business partners, and yes, scent-bonded.

But Cas wants to be wholly and solely Dean’s mate. He doesn’t need a wedding or a ring, but he wants to strengthen their bond and let Dean know that he is serious about becoming a family.  
  
So tonight he’s not going to talk himself out of it. Tonight they’re going down to The Whipping Post for dinner and drinks. And then he’s going to just come out and ask Dean…  
  
Steam fills the room and quickly dissipates when Dean opens the door to the small en suite bathroom that Cas had had built in the mud room. He steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist, and a whistle on his lips. The whistle turns into a catcall and Dean winks at him, disappearing into the closet.  
  
The faint scent of the beginning of Dean’s heat follow Dean from the bathroom and into the bedroom. It isn’t supposed to be due for at least another day or two but calculations aren’t always exact. Regardless, they probably shouldn’t go anywhere now.  
  
And with that thought, and such a delicious sight and scent, screw waiting to ask later tonight.  
  
“Dean?” Cas asks, stepping in behind him, cornering the Omega in the closet, laying his hands against Dean’s damp back. Dean leans into it and tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck.  
  
Cas steps in close and wraps his arms around Dean's chest so that Cas can pull him closer, dropping his face to Dean’s shoulder. He sniffs at the line of skin where Dean’s scent is strongest. It’s a beautiful blend of both their scents from being together: espresso, spiced apples, the heat of whiskey.  
  
“Dean,” Cas says again, his lips tickling Dean’s skin, making the Omega shiver.  
  
“Yeah, Cas?”  
  
“I want,” Cas opens his jaw and bites gently, “to bite you.”  
  
He can feel Dean tense beneath him so he relaxes his jaw and kisses the spot where he’d put his mark and waits patiently for Dean to use his words, having also learned early on that he misinterprets many of Dean’s knee-jerk reactions.  
  
Dean slowly turns around in Cas’ arms, green eyes searching. A slow smile spreads across the Omega’s handsome face.  
  
“This is a big deal,” Dean says.  
  
“Yes, it is.”

With a smirk and then a lip bite, Dean teases, “You think you can handle this?”

“I think I’ve done an okay job so far.”  
  
“Cas,” Dean breathes, breaking out of his posturing, bringing his hands up to cup Cas’ face. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for a long time.”  
  
Cas tilts his head. “Why didn’t you bring it up if you’ve been waiting so long?”  
  
“Sometimes a guy wants to be chased after and know he’s wanted. Plus, my brother may have accidentally spilled the beans that you asked him for advice months ago.”  
  
“Damn it, Sam,” Cas says, with a laugh. “I’ve been so nervous.”  
  
Dean smiles wickedly. “Honestly, watching you sweat about it all this time has been kinda cute. I wasn’t really expecting it to be in the closet while I’m naked, though.”  
  
“Good,” Cas says slyly. “Then I, at least, had the element of surprise on my side. Mmm, your heat is starting. I can smell it now that you’ve washed away the baking you’ve been doing all day. It’s very faint still.”  
  
Dean sniffs at himself. “Really? I hadn’t even noticed. I thought I was just getting hot in the kitchen, and from it already being hotter than hell outside. It’s only May.”  
  
“Hmm,” Cas says, thumbing Dean’s hips and pushing away the towel. “Why are we talking about the weather? Let me make you dinner before it really kicks in and then I’ll take care of you, knot you up and finally claim you as mine.” Firmly, he adds, “And only because you’re choosing to give yourself to me. But…”  
  
Dean gasps when Cas grabs his bare ass and gently bites over the scent gland again without breaking skin. “But what?”  
  
“Only if you return the favor?” Cas pulls back to look at Dean’s face for his reaction, hands nervously kneading Dean’s flesh. What’s he’s asking isn’t necessarily conventional but, then again, nothing about them or their relationship has been conventional either. “I want to give myself to you. We belong _together_ , not just you who belongs to me.”  
  
Dean kisses him, hard, and pulls back. “Screw dinner. I wanna do this now. I don’t want to wait another goddamn second.”  
  
“Yeah?” There’s almost disbelief in his tone. Dean is really going to give him this...  
  
“I would have jumped you right on the street, the moment we met,” Dean says tenderly, nuzzling at his neck and working the button and zipper of Cas’ pants.  
  
“Ah, but you would have had your freak out still. I know you. I just hope, now that we’ve had time, that neither of us is running from the other again? Because I think it would break me, in a different way now that I do know you and love you,” Cas says, his voice sounding more vulnerable than he intended.  
  
“No, I’m here to stay.” Dean straightens, his tone firm. “This is me, dropping anchor, staying put. There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Cas. And I know what you’re thinking, but I’d rather have you, imperfect and broken, than not.”  
  
“I don’t deserve y--,” Cas starts to say but Dean rushes forward and presses their lips together.  
  
“You’re not actually broken, you know that right?” Dean insists. “This ain’t about what you can or can’t give me, and vice versa. Now get your shirt off and carry me to that goddamn bed, Alpha.”    
  
Cas perks up at that, noting the heavy perfume of slick and heat thickening in the small space. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“That’s ‘yes, Mate’ to you.”  
  
“Yes, my beautiful Omega.” Cas kicks off the pants still pooled around his legs and scoops Dean up, bridal-style, taking him to their bed. “My mate.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [art for the story "Ships in the Night "](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976358) by [skyhighjelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyhighjelly/pseuds/skyhighjelly)




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